Page:Repository of Arts, Series 1, Volume 01, 1809, January-June.djvu/243

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These once were mine, but far away
 * From my poor bosom they are flown:

In this cold heart they will not stay;
 * This heart can never be my own.

It does not throb with anxious fears,
 * Nor has it strength to heave a moun;

It does not fill the eye with tears:
 * It surely cannot be my own;

My heart was ever stout and bold,
 * Whatever demon cross’d my way;

But now, alas! ’tis icy cold,
 * Nor cheers me once throughout the day.

Not a gay thought finds entrance there;
 * Not a warm feeling makes it glow;

Nor is it yet o’erwhelm’d with care
 * But in my breast it sinks so low,

So low—it makes my life-blood creep
 * In chilling current through my veins;

Till night cornea on, and friendly sleep
 * Throws its dark mantle o’er my pains.

But when I wake from busy rest
 * (For dreams unceasing round me fly),

I hear the echo of my breast
 * “Lie down, old man, lie down and die!”

Could I that kind command obey,
 * It would my drooping spirits cheer;

How should I haste to flee away,
 * For I am sick of being here!

Thou sad, desponding, dreary guest,
 * Leave me with all thy gloomy train!

Oh! quit the mansion of my breast
 * Let my own heart come back again.

But if, malignant, thou wilt stay,
 * Oh! may thy currents freeze and dry!

O Time, arrest them on their way
 * “Let the old man lie down, and die!”