Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/60

 40 ODE TO MEMORY. Who hs thy sp/ings mysterious view'd, Or who thy hidden paths defm'd ? Sweet echo of the soul, how oft, Repeated from thine airy shell, On Faney's ear, distinctly soft, Some melody, we lov'd, will swell. How oft, as sleep is stealing near, Oblivious, o'er the sinking frame, Some well-known voice we start to hear Reiterate our absent name. How often, while the present gives No kindred touch the thought to wake, Some long-past scene before us lives, And buried joys their slumber break ! At rarer times, a sudden gleam The startled bosom glances o'er,. The dim.perception of a dream, "Oh, has all this been so before ?" 'Tis felt, 'tis gone; we seek to trace, Or call the feeling back in vain, As well the lightning might we chace, Or bid Time's 4teet foot turn again. ......... Google �

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