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 And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my puret thoughts, the nurse. The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being.

If I were not thus taught, should I the more Suffer my genial spirits to decay: For thou art with me, here, upon the banks Of this fair river; thou, my dearet Friend, My dear, dear Friend, and in thy voice I catch The language of my former heart, and read My former pleasures in the shooting lights Of thy wild eyes. Oh! yet a little while May I behold in thee what I was once, My dear, dear Sister! And this prayer I make, Knowing that Nature never did betray