text:  With every joy we haste to meet In hopefulness or pride There comes with step as sure and fleet A shadow by its side; And ever thus that spectre chill With each fair bliss has sped And when the gladden'd pulse should thrill The stricken heart lies dead! The poet's brow the wreath entwines-- What weight falls on the breast! Upon the sword where glory shines The stains of life-blood rest