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And while

my humble wreath I hang

With reverence on her lowly tomb,

My heart still vibrates with the pang
That burst the liberal heart of MOOME!

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THE

NYMPH OF THE FOUNTAIN

ΤΟ

CHARLOTTE.

"O fountain Arethuse, and thou honour'd flood, "Smooth sliding Mincia, crown'd with crisped reeds, "That strain I heard was of a higher mood,

66

but now my oat proceeds.

MILTON.

FAIR daughter of that fleeting race
Who fade like Autumn's leafy store,
Welcome, my rocky haunts to trace,
And all my secret cells explore.

* Full many an oak, whose lofty head
With sacred misletoe was crown'd,

Since first I own'd that stony bed,

Sunk dodder'd to its native ground.

* The way to this beautiful fountain lies through a mossy heath, entirely covered with large fallen trees, mostly sunk into the earth by their own weight.

And many a towering grove of pine,
Whose gloom shut out the noon-day sun,
In shatter'd ruin lies supine,

Since first my wat'ry course begun.

And many a toiling race of man

Has joy'd in youth, and mourn'd in age, Since first my pensive view began To trace their weary pilgrimage.

And many a nymph with sounding bow,
Slow-rolling eyes, and heavy locks,
As young, as fair, as soft as thou,

Has chac'd the deer o'er yonder rocks.

And when the sun's meridian heat
With fervid splendour fir'd the heath,
Oft have they sought my cool retreat,
With glowing breast and panting breath.

Yet, never did I pour my stream

To bathe a breast more pure than thine, Or visit eyes in whose mild beam

So clear the gentler virtues shine.

When with light step thy naked feet
Move quick my primrose banks along,

I bid

my streams with murmur sweet Their liquid melody prolong.

When Echo to thy voice replies

From yonder arch of rugged stone,
Well pleas'd I lift my humid eyes,
As blue and languid as thy own:

When from yon hazle's pendant shade
Sweet spring awakes the blackbird's strain,

Come to my bosom, gentle maid,

And lave thy streaming locks again.

Pluck from my brink the flow'ry store

That blushing decks the infant year,

And to increase their beauty more,

Deign round thy brow the wreath to wear.

And when the summer's ardent glow
Shrinks every brook in yonder plain,
Come where my lucid waters flow,

And bathe thy graceful form again.

Nor yet, when wint'ry tempests howl,
To haunt my lonely margin cease,
Thro' life's dark storms the virtuous soul
Finds Reason's steady light increase.

Hard ice, that crusts my current clear, Renews more pure my sparkling stream; Thus may Affliction's hand severe

Add lustre to the mental gem.

Where'er you rove, where'er

you rest,

May Peace your pensive steps attend, And halcyon Innocence your breast

From each contagious blast defend !

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