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She still in mournful numbers pleas'd,
For thee she still shall seek the plain,
On you propitious she bestows
A mind too chaste for Sappho's woes,
She Sappho's charms in you supplies,
Did bounteous Heaven, profusely kind,
How idle yet the hopes you raise
In planning of his future days,
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,
A fruit unknown to summer's heat,
'Mid Solitude's sequester'd joy,
Oft as to each regardless wind
When Night her dewy curtain spreads,
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
While sullen Silence reigns around,
'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,
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: