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Felicia Dorothea Hemans - "The Memory Of Joys That Are Past." Ossian.
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THERE is an hour, a pensive hour;
	(And oh! how dear its soothing pow`r!)
	It is, when twilight spreads her veil,
	And steals along the silent dale;
	`Tis when the fading blossoms close,
	When all is silence and repose;
	Then memory wakes, and loves to mourn,
	For days—that never shall return!

	There is a strain, a plaintive strain,
	The source of joy and yet of pain;
	It is the song, whose dying measure,
	Some friend belov`d has heard with pleasure;
	Some friend—who ne`er again may hear,
	The melting lay, to memory dear;
	Ah! then, her magic spells restore,
	Visions of blissful days no more!

	There is a tear of sweet relief,
	A tear—of rapture and of grief;
	The feeling heart alone can know
	What soft emotions bid it flow!
	It is when memory charms the mind,
	With tender images refin`d;
	`Tis when her balmy spells restore,
	Departed friends, and joys no more!
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