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Rh

OW murmurs creep along the woody vale, The tremulous Aspens shudder in the breeze, Slow o'er the downs the leaden vapours sail, While I, beneath these old paternal trees, Mark the dark shadows of the threaten'd storm, As gathering clouds o'erveil the morning sun; They pass!—But oh! ye visions bright and warm With which even here my sanguine youth begun, Ye are obscured for ever!—And too late The poor Slave shakes the unworthy bonds away Which crush'd her!—Lo! the radiant star of day Lights up this lovely scene anew—My fate Nor hope nor joy illumines—Nor for me Return those rosy hours which here I used to see!