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 THE BENEFACTRESS. 99

Yet oft doth twilight's musing hour thy graceful form

restore, And morning breathe thy mnsic-tone, like Memnon's

harp of yore.

The simple cap that deck'd thy brow is still to memory

dear, Her echoes keep thy cherish'd song that lull'd my infant

ear ; The book from which my lisping tongue was by thy

kindness taught Gleams forth, with all its letter 'd lines, still fresh with

hues of thought.

The flowers, the dear, familiar flowers, that in thy garden grew,

From which thy mantel- vase was fill'd methinks they breathe anew;

Again, the whispering lily bends, and ope those lips of rose,

As if some message of thy love they linger'd to dis- close.

'Tis true, that more than fourscore years had bow'd thy

beauty low, And mingled, with thy cup of life, full many a dreg of

woe,

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