Page:Records of Woman.pdf/164

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Hast thou, thro' Eden's wild-wood vales pursued Each mountain-scene, magnificently rude, Nor with attention's lifted eye, revered That modest stone, by pious Pembroke rear'd, Which still records, beyond the pencil's power, The silent sorrows of a parting hour? .

and child! whose blending tears Have sanctified the place, Where, to the love of many years. Was given one last embrace; Oh! ye have shrin'd a spell of power. Deep in your record of that hour!