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Let Wisdom smile not on her conquer'd field ;

No rapture dawns, no treasure is reveal'd!

Oh ! let her read, nor loudly, nor elate,

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The doom that bars us from a better fate ;

But, fad as angels for the good man's fin,

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Weep to record, and blush to give it in

And well may Doubt, the mother of Dismay,

Pause at her martyr's tomb, and read the lay,

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Down by the wilds of yon

deserted vale,

It darkly hints a melancholy tale!

There, as the homeless madman sits alone,

In hollow winds he hears a spirit moan!

And there, they say, a wizard orgie crowds,

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When the moon lights her watch-tower in the clouds.

Poor, loft Alonzo! Fate's neglected child !

Mild be the doom of Heav'n-as thou wert mild !

For oh! thy heart in holy mould was cast,

And all thy deeds were blameless, but the last.

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Poor, loft Alonzo! still I seem to hear

The clod that struck thy hollow-founding bier!
When Friendship paid, in speechless forrow drown'd,

Thy midnight rites, but not on hallow'd ground !

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Cease, every joy, to glimmer on my mind,
But leave-oh! leave—the light of Hope behind !

What though my winged hours of bliss have been,

Like angel-visits, few, and far between !

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Her mufing mood shall every pang appease,

And charm-when pleasures lose the power to please! 380 Yes! let each rapture, dear to Nature, flee; Close not the light of Fortune's stormy sea

Mirth, Mufic, Friendship, Love's propitious sinile,
Chase

every care, and charm a little while,

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No! not the quaint remark, the sapient rule, Nor all the pride of Wisdom's worldly school,

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Have pow'r to soothe, unaided and alone,

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The heart that vibrates to a feeling tone !

When stepdame Nature every bliss recals,

Fleet as the meteor o'er the desert falls ;

When, 'reft of all, yon widow'd fire appears

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Say, can the world one joyous thought bestow
To Friendship, weeping at the couch of Woe?

No! but a brighter soothes the last adieu,

Souls of impaffion'd mould, she {peaks to you!

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Weep not, she says, at Nature's transient pain,
Congenial spirits part to meet again!

What plaintive fobs thy filial fpirit drew,

What forrow chok'd thy long and last adieu,

Daughter of Conrad ! when he heard his knell,

And bade his country and his child farewell !

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Doom'd the long isles of Sydney Cove to see,

The martyr of his crimes, but true to thee.

Thrice the sad father tore thee from his heart,

And thrice return'd, to bless thee, and to part ;

Thrice from his trembling lips he murmur'd low

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The plaint that own’d unutterable woe;
Till Faith, prevailing o'er his fullen doom,
As bursts the morn on night's unfathom’d gloom,
Lur'd his dim eye to deathless hopes sublime,

Beyond the realms of Nature and of Time !

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“ And weep not thus, (he cried) young Ellenore,

My bosom bleeds, but soon shall bleed no more !

Short shall this half-extinguish'd spirit burn,

And soon these limbs to kindred dust return !

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