The heart bowed down, Count Arnheim's aria from The Bohemian Girl

Whate'er the scenes the present hour
calls forth before the sight,
They lose their splendor when compared
with scenes of past delight!

The heart bowed down by weight of woe,
To weakest hope will cling,
To thought and impulse while they flow,
That can no comfort bring,
With those exciting scenes will blend,
O'er pleasure's pathway thrown;
But mem'ry is the only friend
That grief can call its own.

The mind will, in its worst despair,
Still ponder o'er the past,
On moments of delight that were
Too beautiful to last.
To long departed years extend
Its visions with them flown;
For mem'ry is the only friend
That grief can call its own.