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VII. My friend, my friend! where art thou? Day by day, Gliding, like some dark mournful stream, away, My silent youth flows from me. Spring, the while, Comes and rains beauty on the kindling boughs Round hall and hamlet; Summer, with her smile, Fills the green forest;—young hearts breathe their vows; Brothers long parted meet; fair children rise Round the glad board; Hope laughs from loving eyes: All this is in the world!—These joys lie sown, The dew of every path—On one alone Their freshness may not fall—the stricken deer, Dying of thirst with all the waters near.

VIII. Ye are from dingle and fresh glade, ye flowers! By some kind hand to cheer my dungeon sent; O'er you the oak shed down the summer showers, And the lark's nest was where your bright cups bent,