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And here the meeker matron view'd    Her children trooping round, Who guide with shouts of laughter rude The ball's elastic bound,—

Anon to aid their sports would spread Her gay-flower'd ample gown, Or at their quarrels shake her head And awe them with a frown.

Here, in thy arms,—the nodding nurse Has slumber'd out the night, Regardless of the mutter'd curse Of the poor, gouty wight;

Or frighten'd from her stolen dream Has heard in deep dismay The falling infant's piteous scream Who on her bosom lay.

Here beauty, like some blighted flower Smit by unfriendly sky, Consumed the wakeful,—restless hour With bright, unearthly eye.

While on her cheek, the hectic glow Dire symbol of decay, Reveal'd how fast the treacherous foe Was mining on his way.

Ah!—wouldst thou speak,—thou ancient Chair, What secrets couldst thou tell? Of hidden Love's mysterious care Breathed in thy hermit cell.