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MILLEVOYE.

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THICKLY amid the groves were laid

The leafy spoils of Autumn's gale; Each woody nook to light display'd, And hush'd the voiceless nightingale.

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Ev'n in his dawn of life decaying,
A youthful poet sadly rov'd;
Yet once again with faint steps straying
Amid the scenes his childhood lov'd.

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Dear woods, farewell ! your mournful hue
Foretells the doom that waits on me;
And in each blighted leaf, anew
I learn to read my death's decree. .

Fatal oracle d'Epidaure,
Tu l'as dit, les feuilles du bois
A tes yeux jauniront encore,
Mais c'est pour la dernière fois.

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Le sombre cyprès t'environne;
Plus pâle que le pâle Automne,
Tu t'inclines vers le tombeau ;
Et ta jeunesse sera flétrie

nt l'herbe de la prairie, Ayant le pampre du côteau.

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Et je meurs ! de leur froide haleine

Les vents funestes m'ont touché;
Et mon printemps s'achève à peine,
Que mon hiver s'est approché.

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Yes he, the boding sage, bas said,
Perchance thine eye may see once more
Th’ Autumnal forest's mellowing red,
Yet once again, and then 'tis o’er.

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Round thy young front, all dark and sere,
Is twin'd e'en now the cypress wreath;
And paler than the paling year
Thou bendest tow'rds the bed of death.

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Ere yonder russet grass shall fade,
Ere droop upon yon vine-clad height
The last remains of ling’ring shade,
Thy youth shall feel the nipping blight.

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And I must die! the chilling blast
Congeals me with its icy touch;
And ere my spring of life is past,
I feel my winter's near approach.

Tombe, tombe, feuille éphémère !
Voile aux yeux ce triste chemin !
Cache au désespoir de ma mère
La place où je serai demain!

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Mais vers la solitaire allée
Si mon amante désolée
Venait pleurer quand le jour fuit,
Eveillée par son léger bruit
Mon ombre un instant consolée ...

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Il dit — s'éloigne, et sans retour !
La dernière feuille qui tombe
A signalé son dernier jour.
Sous la chêne on creusa sa tombe.

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Mais son amante ne vint pas
Visiter la pierre isolée;
Et le pâtre de la vallée
Troubla seul, du bruit de ses pas,
Le silence du mausolée.

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Fall, blighted foliage, chill and pale;
Hide from the sight this road of sorrow,
And from a mother's anguish veil
The spot where I must lie to-morrow!

But if to this sequester'd brake
Kind pity lead one much-lov’d Maid;
Sweetly her fairy step shall wake,
And soothe awhile my troubled shade!

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He past — and never to return !-
The last leaf quiv’ring in the glade
Fell on the youthful Poet's urn.
Beneath the oak his tomb was made.

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But never to that lowly stone
The Maiden came, by pity led;
The passing Shepherd's step alone
Disturb’d that still sepulchral bed.

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