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32 Like ome lone pilgrim, clad in mournful weed, Whoe wounded boom drinks her falling tears, On whoe pale cheek relentles orrows feed, Whoe dreary way no prightly carol cheers.

Not thus he breath'd on Arno's purple hore, And call'd the Tucan Mues to her bowers; Not this the robe in Enna's vale he wore, When Ceres' daughter fill'd her lap with flowers.

Clouds behind clouds in long ucceion rie, And heavy nows oppres the pringing green; The dazzling wate fatigues the aching eyes, And fancy droops beneath th' unvaried cene.

Indulgent nature looe this frozen zone; Thro' opening kies let genial un-beams play; Diolving nows hail their glad impule own, And melt upon the boom of the May. VERSES