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++ But see the dawn approaches fast
“ I hear our matin bell
“ One more our last farewell.
Thrice did my trembling tongue essay
To bid the last adieu !
And off the spirit flew.
Inscribed on the back-graund of the case in which
this beautiful bird is preserved.
“Oh pretty Pol--and pretty dear" Was all this bird could utter clear, And these you think might only be The words of lying vanity.
The relics of her beauty view And own that all she said was true,
The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
Thy needles, once a shining store,
For though thou gladly would'st fulfil
My Mary !
But well thou play'd'st the house-wife's part;
Thy indistinct expressions seem
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright!
For could I view nor them nor thee
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st,
And still to love, though prest with ill;
But ah! bg constant heed I know,
And sliould my future lot be cast
Now Spring returns, but not to me return's
The vernal joy my better years have known; Dim in my breast life's dying tạper burns,
And all the joys of life with health have flownt.
Starting and shiv'ring in th' inconstant wind,
Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclin'd,
And count the silent moments as they pass :
The wiriged moments, whose unstaying speed
No art can stop, or in their course arrest, Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead,
And lay me down in peace with them that rest.
Oft morning dreams, presage approaching fate,
And morning dreams, as poets tell, are true ; Led by pale ghosts, I erter death's dark gate,
And bid the realms of light and lite adieu.
I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe,
I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, The sluggish streams that slowly creep below,
Where mortals visit and return no more.
Farewell, ye blooming fields, ye cheerful plains!
Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where melancholy with still silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless
There let me wander at the close of eve,
When sleep sits dewy on the lak’rer's eyes, The world and all its busy follies leave,
And talk with wisdom, where my Daphnis lies