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Rh

Nor vain that dear, enchanting lore, Her soul's bright visions to restore, And bid gay phantoms of delight, Float, in soft colouring, o'er her sight. —Oh! youth, sweet May-morn, fled so soon, Far brighter than life's loveliest noon, How oft thy spirit's buoyant power, Will triumph, e'en in sorrow's hour, Prevailing o'er regret! As rears its head th' elastic flower, Though the dark tempest's recent shower, Hang on its petals yet!

Ah! not so soon can hope's gay smile, The aged bard to joy beguile; Those silent years that steal away, The cheek's warm rose, the eye's bright ray, Win from the mind a nobler prize, E'en all its buoyant energies! For him the April days are past, When grief was but a fleeting cloud;