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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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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.


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!


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 ...


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


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.


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!


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.


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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