Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -

Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.

The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.

The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come, And make their bed with thee.

But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.

It is said to be the manner of hypochondriacs to change often their physician.