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 Thou ling'ring star, with less'ning ray,
 * That lov'st to greet the early morn,

Again thou usher'st in the day
 * My Mary from my soul was torn.

O mary, dear departed shade!
 * Where is thy place of blissful rest?

Seest thou thy lover lowly laid?
 * Hear'st thon the groans that rend his breast?

That sacred hour can I forget!
 * Can I forget the hallowed grove,

Where by the winding Ayr we met,
 * To live one day of parting love!

Eternity will not efface
 * Those records dear of transports past,—

Thy image at our last embrace:-
 * Ah! little thought we 'twas our last!

Ayr, gurgling, kiss'd his pebbled shore,
 * O'erhung with wild woods, thick'ning, green;

The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,
 * Twin'd am'rous round the raptur'd scene.

The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,
 * The birds sing love on every spray,

Till too, too soon, the glowing west
 * Proclaim'd the speed of winged day.

Still d'er these scenes my mem'ry wakes,
 * And fondly broods with miser care:

Time but the impression stronger makes.
 * As streams their channels deeper wear.