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Mid roseate hues, the setting sun
On yonder hills his race has run:
E'en tho' his brightest rays are set,
His lingering smile is lovely yet;
But ere it gild returning day,
Thy lover will be far away.

It sinks—’tis gone—and I must fly,
Before it gilds to-morrow's sky;
And yet I little thought to feel

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,
And I have bid


last adieu!
But still remembrance loves to stray
With those who now are far away;
But these are thoughts too pure to last,
A ray emerging from the past !

O'er yonder wave the queen of night
Ne'er shed a purer, lovelier light;
And while these eyes on Cynthia dwell,
“ 'Gainst thee my heart shall ne'er rebel;"
For 'neath its pure unsullied ray
We gave our youthful hearts away.


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Oh! tell me not that dark abyss

Is closing o'er the form I love;
Ah! no, in worlds more pure than this,

Thy lovely spirit roams above;
And leaves the realms of grief and care,
To wander o'er the fields of air.

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,
Which shines amidst the rising storm,

Thy lovely spirit roams afar;
Oh! leave thy place of blissful rest,
And soothe thy lover's aching breast!

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!

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