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— But pale Despondency, that stole The light of gladness from my soul, While Youth and Folly blindfold ran The giddy circle up to Man, Breathed a dark spirit through my lyre, Dimm'd the noon-radiance of my fire, And cast a mournful evening hue O'er every scene my fancy drew. Then though the proud despised my strain. It flow'd not from my heart in vain ; The lay of freedom, fervour, truth. Was dear to undissembling youth, From manly breasts drew generous sighs. And Virtue's tears from Beauty's eyes.

My Song of Sorrow reach'd HER ear ; She raised her languid head to hear. And, smiling in tlic arms of Death, Slie bless'd me with her latest breath.

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