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Mid roseate hues, the setting sun
It sinks—’tis gone—and I must fly,
pangs as now around me steal; As tears beneath that dark fringe glow, And wilder still our accents flow.
My bark glides o'er the waters blue,
O'er yonder wave the queen of night
Oh! tell me not that dark abyss
Is closing o'er the form I love;
Thy lovely spirit roams above;
Midst happier hearts, and calmer hours,
I did not sing of themes like these; Where clustering vines and azure flowers,
i] And every charm which once could please, In ripening bloom were wont to shine Along the fairy banks of Rhine.
But where are they? and where art thou,
My Mary? in the silent tomb Decay has mark'd thy marble brow,
Thy lovely cheek has lost its bloom; And every
heart is far away, Which made those joyous hours more gay.
Lo! yon bright orb withdraws its gleam,
No star is mirror'd on the wave; And nothing, save the raven's scream,
Disturbs the stillness of the grave; While gathering clouds with black’ning gloom Roll darkly o'er my Mary's tomb.
And round me lie the silent dust
Of hearts as gay, and forms as bright; The eyeless skull, the mould'ring bust,
Shine ghastly by the glowworm's light; And yet
this hour is far more dear Than friendship's smile, or beauty's tear.
Ah! whither glides thy fairy form,
My Mary? if in yon bright star,
Thy lovely spirit roams afar;
Fair as the vapoury forms which glide
In rapture o'er the poet's eye; Even now methinks my earthly bride
Floats lightly o’er the low'ring sky; And beck’ning, points to that bright star, Whose radiant beauty shines afar.
In vain-in vain! yet if thine ear
Is listening to thy lover's lays; If seraphs e'er bestow a tear,
For joys which flew in earlier days; Oh! Mary, let one thought of thine Still linger on the banks of Rhine!