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Rh Wherein are mirrored, as by magic spell, The features of lost friends we loved so well; The tears of fancy! as it seeks to trace And fondly muse o'er some remembered face, Until each smile, and echo of the voice, Seems o'er again to bid one's heart rejoice: Tears! sweetest when affection weeps alone. And muses o'er the moments that have flown: Tears; when the bitterness of death is past. And those we sought to save have breathed their last: Tears! that are o'er fresh graves so often shed. Where Love lies bleeding for her coffin'd dead; Whose voices—now in death's deep silence mute— Once sounded with the sweetness of the lute; Whose lips, with fond endearments, kindled bliss, And oft imprinted the impassioned kiss: Tears! that become their memory's glittering gems, For spirit brows, in love-lit diadems; While fancy muses by the sacred spot. And seems to hear these words, 'Forget me not!' Whispered by spirit voices, whose soft spells Linger, like echoes from sweet evening bells.

Tears of fair maidenhood amid caresses,