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Ipsara! thy glory is changed into gloom,
And ocean's green Eden is now one wide tomb;
But thy spirit shall live over mountain and flood,
Till the trophies of despots are dashed in their blood!
-: Arum.


Farewell, my gentle harp, farewell I

Thy task will soon be done;
And she who loved thy lonely spell

Shall, like its tones, be gone—'
Gone to the place where mortal pain
Pursues the weary heart in vain.

I shed no tears—light passes by
The pang that melts in tears—

The stricken bosom that can sigh
No mortal arrow bears—

When comes the soul's true agony,

The lip is hushed and calm the aye.

And mine has come !—no more I weep*—
No longer passion's slave; .

My bleep must be the unwaking deep,

My bed most be the erave:
Through my wild brain no more shall move
Or fear, or hope, or joy, or love.


Though time hath not wreathed

My temples with snow,
Though age hath not breathed

A spell o'er my brow,
Yet care's withered fingers

Press on me with pain;
The fleeting pulse lingers,

And lingers in vain.

The eyes which behold thee,

Their brightness is flown;
The arms which enfold thee

Enfeebled are grown:
And friendship hath left me,

By fortune estranged;
All, all is bereft me,—

For thou, too, art changed!

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Yes, dark ills Have clouded

The dawning in tears;
Adversity shrouded

My ripening years:
Life's path, wild and dreary,

Draws nigh to its close ;—
Heart-broken and weary

I sigh for repose.

The world shall caress thee

When I cease to be;
And suns rise to bless thee

Which smile not for me:
And hearts shall adore thee,

And bend at thy shrine;
But none bow before thee

So truly as mine.



Aiid where is he? Not by the side
Of her whose wants he loved to tend;

Not o'er those valleys wandering wide,
Where, sweetly lost, he oft would wend;

That form beloved he marks no more,
Those scenes admired no more shall gee;

Those scenes are lovely as before,
And she as fair;—bat where is he?

No, no; the radiance is not dim,

That used to gild his favourite hill; The pleasures that were dear to him,

Are dear to life and nature still: But, ah! his home is not as fair,

Neglected must his gardens be, The lilies droop and wither there,

And seem to whisper, ' where is lie .

His was the pomp, the crowded.hall,

But where is now this proud display! His riches, honours, pleasures, all

Desire could frame; but where are they? And he, as some tall rock that stands

Protected by the circling sea, Surrounded by admiring bands,

Seemed proudly strong—and where is he?

,' . ...' il The churchyard bears an added stone, .

The fireside shows a vacant chair; ,,

Here sadness dwells, and weeps alone,

And death displays his banner there;

The life is gone, the breath has fled,
And what has been no more shall be;

The well-known form, the welcome tread,
O where are they, and where is he?


". . ."• .

Alas I—how light a cause may move

Dissension between hearts that love I

Hearts that the world in vain has tried,

And sorrow but more closely tied;

That stood the storm when waves were rough,

Yet in a sunny hour fall off,

Like ships that have gone down at sea,

When heaven was all tranquillity!;

A something light as air—a look,

A word unkind or wrongly taken—
O! love, that tempests never shook,

A breath, a touch like this has shaken—
And ruder words will soon rush in
To spread the breach that words begin;
And eyes forget the gentle ray
They wore in courtship's smiling day;

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