Memory, hither come, 
 And tune your merry notes;
 And, while upon the wind
 Your music floats,

 I'll pore upon the stream
 Where sighing lovers dream,
 And fish for fancies as they pass
 Within the watery glass.

 I'll drink of the clear stream,
 And hear the linnet's song;
 And there I'll lie and dream
 The day along:

 And, when night comes, I'll go
 To places fit for woe,
 Walking along the darken'd valley
 With silent Melancholy.