Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/125

 SEVERAL OCCASIONS 105 Still she mingles, when night's shadows darken the vale, Her tears with the stream, and her sighs with the gale; Still implores the fell rave o'er her quickly to close, And to deaden her breast, dead to joy, to its woes. Hark, she murmurs---" Oh, tyrant, this fond, faithful heart, Which despair will not sever, is bared to thy dart ! Insatiate, 'twas thou didst deprive me of rest; 'Tis thou canst restore it, alone, to my breast ! Soon--soon to rejoin thee, my lover, I come; Tho' earth has denied, still unites us the tomb. Nor blame I the fate, which below I have proved; Contented, I die: I have lived--I have loved ! While thus sad she mourn'd, toli'd the lone midnight bell; The keen winds blew cold, the dew chillily fell: 8till she pour'd her wild plaint, but the morning'? fair light Shone in vain for her eyes-they were closed deep in night *. ......... Google

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