TO
SOPHIA.
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There
is a melancholy shadow cast
O’er all my joys,
when I return here,
To muse on pleasures, which have quickly passed,
When thou, sweet girl, wert
dearest of the dear. [Page 149]
And still the mind is fated to pursue
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The
mocking phantoms of delusive bliss,
Which rise again, to cheat the wond’ring view,
And make me feel the pangs
of even this.
And, while among these infant pines I stray,
Which shade the path where
oft we’ve strayed before—
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Each
thought reverting, marks that well-known day,
I breathed my song of rapture
o’er and o’er.
But now, the murmuring breeze that sighs along,
In gloomy sadness, through
the waving grove,
Comes o’er the heart, like sorrow’s
dismal song,
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With
every feeling that the soul can move.
And in each breath that fans the maple leaves,
Now burnished by the sun’s
declining rays,
I think I hear, in whispers, through the trees,
Such notes as soothed my
heart in happier days. [Page 150]
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