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Streamlet! along whose rippling surge,
My youthful limbs were wont to urge

At noontide heat their pliant course;
Plunging with ardour from the shore,
Thy springs will lave these limbs no more,
Deprived of active force.

And shall I here forget the scene,
Still nearest to my breast?
Rocks rise, and rivers roll between
The spot which passion blest;
Yet, Mary, all thy beauties seem
Fresh as in Love's bewitching dream,
To me in smiles display'd:
Till slow disease resigns his prey
To Death, the parent of decay,
Thine image cannot fade.

And thou, my Friend! whose gentle love
Yet thrills my bosom's chords,
How much thy friendship was above
Description's power of words!
Still near my breast thy gift I wear,
Which sparkled once with Feeling's tear,

Of Love the pure, the sacred gem;
Our souls were equal, and our lot
In that dear moment quite forgot;
Let Pride alone condemn !

All, all is dark and cheerless now!
No smile of Love's deceit

Can warm my veins with wonted glow,
Can bid Life's pulses beat:

Not e'en the hope of future fame Can wake my faint, exhausted frame,

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Or crown with fancied wreaths my head.
Mine is a short inglorious race —
To humble in the dust my face,
And mingle with the dead.

Oh Fame! thou goddess of my heart;
On him who gains thy praise,
Pointless must fall the Spectre's dart,
Consumed in Glory's blaze;
But me she beckons from the earth,
My name obscure, unmark'd my birth,
My life a short and vulgar dream:
Lost in the dull, ignoble crowd,
My hopes recline within a shroud,
My fate is Lethe's stream.

When I repose beneath the sod,
Unheeded in the clay,
Where once my playful footsteps trod,
Where now my head must lay;

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Yet shall not these one hope destroy, A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!

Why, let the world unfeeling frown,
Must I fond Nature's claim disown?
Ah, no though moralists reprove,
I hail thee, dearest child of love,
Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy
A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!

Oh, 't will be sweet in thee to trace,
Ere age has wrinkled o'er my face,
Ere half my glass of life is run,
At once a brother and a son;
And all my wane of years employ
In justice done to thee, my Boy!

Although so young thy heedless sire,
Youth will not damp parental fire;
And, wert thou still less dear to me,
While Helen's form revives in thee,
The breast, which beat to former joy,
Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!
1807. [First published, 1830.]

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[First published in the Edition of 1898 from a manuscript in the possession of the Earl of Lovelace.]

BREEZE of the night in gentler sighs

More softly murmur o'er the pillow; For Slumber seals my Fanny's eyes,

And Peace must never shun her pillow.

Or breathe those sweet Eolian strains

Stolen from celestial spheres above, To charm her ear while some remains,

And soothe her soul to dreams of love.

But Breeze of night again forbear,
In softest murmurs only sigh;
Let not a Zephyr's pinion dare

To lift those auburn locks on high.

Chill is thy Breath thou breeze of night!
Oh! ruffle not those lids of Snow;

For only Morning's cheering light
May wake the beam that lurks below.

Blest be that lip and azure eye!

Sweet Fanny, hallow'd be thy Sleep! Those lips shall never vent a sigh, Those eyes may never wake to weep February 23, 1808.

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