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Oh! mirror, lonely mirror, Thou of the silent hall! Thou hast been flush'd with beauty's bloom— Is this, too, vanish d all?

It is, with the scatter'd garlands Of triumphs long ago; With the melodies of buried lyres; With the faded rainbow's glow.

And for all the gorgeous pageants, For the glance of gem and plume, For lamp, and harp, and rosy wreath, And vase of rich perfume.

Now, dim, forsaken mirror, Thou givest but faintly back The quiet stars, and the sailing moon, On her solitary track.