i dream'd i lay where flowers were springing
gaily in the sunny beam;
list'ning to the wild birds singing,
by a falling crystal stream:
straight the sky grew black and daring;
thro' the woods the whirlwinds rave;
tress with aged arms were warring,
o'er the swelling drumlie wave.
such was my life's deceitful morning,
such the pleasures i enjoyed:
but lang or noon, loud tempests storming
a' my flowery bliss destroy'd.
tho' fickle fortune has deceiv'd me—
she promis'd fair, and perform'd but ill,
of mony a joy and hope bereav'd me—
i bear a heart shall support me still.