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She still in mournful numbers pleas'd,
With her the hapless exile eas'd
His sadly plaintive breast.

For thee she still shall seek the plain,
Where Severn leads his dusky train,
Or Wye's smooth waters roll;
Her Power could blunt Affliction's dart,
And fondly sooth the keener smart
Of Sappho's love-sick soul.

On you propitious she bestows

A mind too chaste for Sappho's woes,
Unstain'd by wild desire;

She Sappho's charms in you supplies,
To me the partial power denies
The Lesbian's purer fire.

Did bounteous Heaven, profusely kind,
To frame the favorite infant mind
Its fondest care employ :

How idle yet the hopes you raise

In planning of his future days,
How vain each fancy'd joy!

Had fate prolong'd th' uncertain flame, Nor from the weak enfeebled frame

Had life's fleet vision past;

Who knows but angry Heaven had still

With every baleful bitter ill

Each future day o'ercast ?

Since awful Prudence ne'er appears,
Till calmer thoughts and milder years
Each lawless wish assuage;

A fruit unknown to summer's heat,
That buds alone in life's retreat,
And only blooms in age.

'Mid Solitude's sequester'd joy,
May no rude cares thy peace destroy
By sure Remembrance brought;
Nor e'er from Grief's abundant source
May dark Reflection's secret force
Recall one aching thought.

Oft as to each regardless wind
With simple notes the village hind
Attunes his love-lorn reed,

When Night her dewy curtain spreads,
And Cynthia silver glimmering sheds
O'er thicket, vale, and mead;

Thou too, beneath the moon's pale gleams Shall haunt those glades, where fairy streams To Sorrow's softness flow;

Where Love and Grief alone have trod, Where bending willows seem to nod With sympathetic wo.

Wan Melancholy 'mid the storm
Shall rear her meek dejected form,
In sable vest array'd;

While sullen Silence reigns around,
Her voice in slow and solemn sound
Shall whisper thro' the shade.

'Stranger, draw near !-To Sorrow true, With me these lonesome walks review, 'Where Horror's charms invite; 'Daughter of Joy!-I know thy air! Retract thy hurry'd steps! nor dare 'Profane each hallow'd rite!

To mix with Mirth's mad train be thine; The dismal drearier task be mine ''Mid these lorn scenes to weep!

'My days in these still bowers immur'd, By no false flattering hopes allur'd, • Shall one sad tenor keep.

'Let Grief no more thy youth consume, 'Nor sighing o'er the silent tomb

Thy piteous murmurs breathe:

Reject the gloomy cypress bough, Each airy form to grace thy brow • Shall twine the festive wreath.

The infant shade, where'e you rove, • Shall faithful to that sacred grove, With sure return appear;

Nor e'er his filial love shall cease,
He still with soothing sounds of peace
• Shall charm thy listening ear.

At morn, when deep sepulchral caves, • When op'ning vaults, and yawning graves • Their wandering dead recall; 'He ne'er shall quit that sainted place • Till lingering in thy fond embrace The shadowy tear shall fall.

'May'st thou 'mid Pleasure's sons rejoice, • Each Muse shall with according voice • Confirm the pleasing tale.' This said the melting maid of wo

Shall cease-and o'er her charms shall throw

The thin translucent veil.

The time shall come, when Fancy's power To each slow-sorrowing pensive hour

Shall gladly bring relief:

When every care shall die away,
And wakeful Memory's gentler sway
Dissolve the reign of Grief.

Thus, by the painter's just design,
From each judicious happy line
The colors bloom or fade;
Elude the nice observer's sight,
By soft gradation's dawn to light,
Cr languish into shade.

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