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Rh

To throw the seeds of pleasure to the wind. What can I look upon but vivid dreams, That sprang like flowers, and like flowers perish'd, Leaving no trace, save a few whither'd leaves Trodden to earth, and mouldering round the stem. Alas! each sunny vision I have known, Has pass'd away like to an infant's smile— Bathed the next moment in the bitterest tears. And shall I raise my hall of joy again, My fairy dwelling, on th' unstable sand? With tremulous hand, I scarce dare wake the strings; They too may tell the vanity of hope.

II.

Morn came in joy, and eve in tenderness; Still Adelaide was lonely in her bower,