Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/123

 SEVERAL OCCASIOT 8. To mark the sun, at eve and morn, Tint my dark leave with glowing red, And gladly hail them yet unshorn, All others fled. 103 No more, beneath my sheltering boughs, Silver'd by Cynthia's tender beam, The lover shall repeat his vows To their dear theme; Nor, slighted by some breast more chill, To me his secret pain impart, Graying the name, more deeply still Grav'd on his heart. The shepherd never, here, again Shall pipe his. sweetly-rustic lay, While round me dance the village train, Happy, as gay. Canst thou reflect, while yet I live, On every good, on every joy, To man, to Nature's tribes I give, And yet destroy ? ......... Google

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