Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/127

 SEVERAL OCCASIONS. And, when upon the gliding river, So mildly sweet, the moon-beams play; While the pale leaves of aspen quiver, Pierced by the silvery, soften'd ray, Cannot the breezes whisper' near The voice, thy bosom pants to hear ? So shall all nature ever give thee Memorial of thine' absent friend; No other record need I leave thee Than what her 'own sweet gifts will lend. But, ohmhush, hush, my idle lay, Lst ief at last should find its way ! THE DREAM.' 107 D.c.xgvr. visions, which this yielding heart Too well--too 1ong--betray'd--beguil'd---depart ! I' k,now you now ! As dreams before the day Your. air-drawn phantoms melt in air away; And nought, save memory, is left to tell There e'er had been what once I. 1ov'd so well.

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