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Vain thought! yet be as now thou art. That in thy waters may be seen The image of a poet's heart, How bright, how solemn, how serene! Such heart did once the poet bless, Who, pouring here a later ditty, Could rind no refuge from distress, But in the milder grief of pity.

Remembrance! as we glide along, For him suspend the dashing oar, Awd pray that never child of Song May know his freezing sorrows more. How calm! how still! the only sound. The dripping of the oar suspended! —The evening darkness gathers round By virtue's holiest powers attended.