Page:The West Indies, and Other Poems.djvu/96

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Of long, long years of future care,

Till lingering Nature yields her breath,

And endless ages of despair, Beyond the judgment-day of death : —

The weeping ^Minstrel sings,

And while her numbers flow. My spirit trembles with the strings,

Responsive to the notes of woe.

And wake this wild Harp's clearest tones, The chords, impatient to complain. Are dumb, or only utter moans.
 * 1) Would gladness move a sprightlier strain.

And yet to sooth the mind

With luxury of grief. The soul to suffering all resignM

In Sorrow's music feels relief.

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