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remember thee. There was a strain Of thrilling music, a soft breath of flowers Telling of summer to a festive throng, That fill'd the lighted halls. And the sweet smile That spoke their welcome, the high-warbled lay Swelling with rapture through a parent's heart, Were thine. Time wav'd his noiseless wand awhile, And in thy cherish'd home once more I stood, Amid those twin'd and cluster'd sympathies Where the rich blossoms of thy heart sprang forth, Like the Moss Rose. Where was the voice of song Pouring out glad and glorious melody?— But when I ask'd for thee, they took me where A hallow'd mountain wrapt its verdant head In changeful drapery of woods and flowers And silvery streams, and where thou erst didst love, Musing to walk, and lend a serious ear To the wild melody of birds that hung Their unharm'd dwellings 'mid its woven bowers. Yet here and there, involv'd in curtaining shades Uprose those sculptur'd monuments, that bear The ponderous warnings of Eternity, So, thou hast past the unreturning gate, Where dust with dust doth mingle, and gone down In all the beauty of thy blooming years To this most sacred city of the dead. The granite obelisk and the pale flower