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YES, yes, I idled many an hour, | |
(O, would that I could idle now, | |
In wooing back the withered flower | |
Of health into my wasted brow!) | |
But from my lifes oershadowing close, | 5 |
My unimpassioned spirit ranks | |
Among its happiest moments those | |
I idled on the Brosnas banks. | |
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For there upon my boyhood broke | |
The dreamy voice of nature first; | 10 |
And every word the vision spoke | |
How deeply has my spirit nursed! | |
A womans love, a lyre, or pen, | |
A rescued land, a nations thanks, | |
A friendship with the world, and then | 15 |
A grave upon the Brosnas banks. | |
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For these I sued and sought and strove, | |
But now my youthful days are gone, | |
In vain, in vain,for womans love | |
Is still a blessing to be won; | 20 |
And still my countrys cheek is wet, | |
The still unbroken fetter clanks, | |
And I may not forsake her yet | |
To die upon the Brosnas banks. | |
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Yet idle as those visions seem, | 25 |
They were a strange and faithful guide, | |
When Heaven itself had scarce a gleam | |
To light my darkened life beside; | |
And if from grosser guilt escaped | |
I feel no dying dread, the thanks | 30 |
Are due unto the Power that shaped | |
My visions on the Brosnas banks. | |
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And love, I feel, will come at last, | |
Albeit too late to comfort me; | |
And fetters from the land be cast, | 35 |
Though I may not survive to see. | |
If then the gifted, good, and brave | |
Admit me to their glorious ranks, | |
My memory may, though not my grave, | |
Be green upon the Brosnas banks. | 40 |
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