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UEEN of my songs, harmonious maid, Why, why hast thou withdrawn thy aid? Why thus forsook my widow'd breast, With dark infeebling damps oppress'd? Where is the bold prophetic heat, With which my bosom wont to beat? Where all the bright mysterious dreams Of haunted shades and tuneful streams,

Say, can the purple charms of wine, Or young form divine, Or flatt'ring scenes of promis'd fame Relume thy faint, thy dying flame? Have