It is o'er! with its pains and its pleasures,
  The dream of affection is o'er!
The feelings I lavish'd so fondly
  Will never return to me more.

With a faith, O! too blindly believing --
  A truth, no unkindness could move;
My prodigal heart hath expended
  At once, an existence of love.

And now, like the spendthrift forsaken,
  By those whom his bounty had blest, 
All empty, and cold, and despairing,
  It shrinks in my desolate breast.

But a spirit is burning within me, 
  Unquench'd, and unquenchable yet;
It shall teach me to bear uncomplaining,
  The grief I can never forget.