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Virtue alone no dissolution fears,

Still permanent, tho' ages roll away; Who builds on her immortal basis, rears

A superstructure time can ne'er decay.

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THE peaceful Evening breathes her balmy store, The playful school-boys wanton o'er the green; Where spreading poplars shade the cottage-door, The villagers in rustic joy convene.

Amid the secret windings of the wood,
With solemn meditation let me stray;
This is the hour, when, to the wise and good,
The heavenly Maid repays the toils of day.

The river murmurs, and the breathing gale
Whispers the gently waving boughs among,
The star of evening glimmers o'er the dale,
And leads the silent host of heaven along.

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How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,

The silver empress of the night appears!
Yon limpid pool reflects a stream of light,
And faintly in its breast the woodland bears.

The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,
Solemn and constant, from yon dell resound;
The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade ;
The bat, low-wheeling, skims the dusky ground.

August and hoary, o'er the sloping dale,

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The Gothic abbey rears its sculptur'd towers; Dull through the roofs resounds the whistling gale; Dark Solitude among the pillars lowers.

Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves,
And solemn shade a chapel's sad remains,
Where yon scath'd poplar through the window waves,
And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains;

There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,

Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where,32 Some hoary shepherd, o'er his staff reclin'd,

Pores on the graves, and sighs a broken prayer.

High o'er the pines, that with their darkening shade
Surround yon craggy bank, the castle rears

Its crumbling turrets: still its towery head
A warlike mien, a sullen grandeur wears.

So, midst the snow of Age, a boastful air

Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends; Still his big bones his youthful prime declare,

Tho', trembling o'er the feeble crutch, he bends. 4.

Wild round the gates the dusky wall-flowers creep,
Where oft the knights the beauteous dame have led;
Gone is the bower, the grot a ruin'd heap,
Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments spread.

'Twas here our sires exulting from the fight,
Great in their bloody arms, march'd o'er the lea,
Eying their rescu'd fields with proud delight!
Now lost to them I and, ah how chang'd to me!

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This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
The dear idea of my POLLIO bring;
So shone the moon through these soft nodding trees,
When here we wander'd in the eves of Spring.

When April's smiles the flowery lawn adorn,
And modest cowslips deck the streamlet's side,
When fragrant orchards to the roseate morn
Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colors dy'd;

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Him, with her purest flames the Muse endow'd,
Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied;
The sacred sisters led where Virtue glow'd

In all her charms; he saw, he felt, and died.

Oh partner of my infant griefs and joys!

Big with the scenes now past my heart o'erflows, Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rise, And dwells luxurious on her melting woes.

Oft with the rising sun, when life was new,
Along the woodland have I roam'd with Thee;
Oft by the moon have brush'd the evening dew,
When all was fearless innocence and glee.

The sainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,
Has oft been conscious of those happy hours;
But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines,
And sainted well have lost their cheering powers.

For Thou art gone-My guide, my friend, oh where,
Where hast thou fled, and left me here behind!
My tenderest wish, my heart to Thee was bare,
Oh, now cut off each passage to thy mind!

How dreary is the gulph, how dark, how void,
The trackless shores that never were repast!
Dread separation! on the depth untry'd

Hope faulters, and the soul recoils aghast.

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