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Translated by Mrs. Cockle SOFT from its crystal bed of rest | |
Mondegos tranquil waters glide; | |
Nor stop, till lost on oceans breast, | |
They, swelling, mingle with the tide, | |
Increasing still, as still they flow, | 5 |
Ah! there commenced my endless woe. | |
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There Beauty showed, with angel mien, | |
Whateer is Beautys loveliest mould, | |
The enchanting smile, the brow serene, | |
And ivory forehead wreathed with gold; | 10 |
A countenance which Loves soft art | |
Has graven forever on my heart. | |
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Content and glorious with the pain | |
That shot from Beautys radiant eyes, | |
From day to day I hugged my chain, | 15 |
And played with life amidst my sighs, | |
Een with my fervent war at peace, | |
Nor bade the dear illusions cease. | |
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Though still those beaming orbs unclose, | |
For me their fires no longer shine; | 20 |
Can those avail to soothe my woes, | |
If these bright beams no more are mine? | |
For radiant howsoeer they be, | |
Alas! they are not bright for me. | |
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Ah! who might guess of love so deep | 25 |
I ere the unfathomed end should see, | |
Or dare to tell that aught would keep | |
My separated soul from thee? | |
That lost to hope, alone survives | |
The cherished joy remembrance gives. | 30 |
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Ah! who might say the glorious thought | |
Should, in a moment, cease to heave | |
This breast, with fond endearment fraught; | |
And hope itself no more deceive? | |
Yet memory still recalls thy power, | 35 |
And shall till lifes receding hour. | |
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Yet softly steals to soothe my grief | |
The thought that cheats me into bliss, | |
And gives me yet a faint relief | |
Midst all my bosoms wretchedness, | 40 |
That in our happier hours you proved | |
You neer could love as I have loved! | |
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Thus shall the pangs of absence steal | |
Oer thee, with half thy torturing woe; | |
But shouldst thou guess the pangs I feel, | 45 |
Or should thy tear of anguish flow, | |
That tear would but my woes increase; | |
In death alone I seek for peace. | |
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Yet whispered to the murmuring stream | |
That winds these flowery meads among, | 50 |
I give affections cheating dream, | |
And pour in weeping truth my song | |
That each recounted woe may prove | |
A lasting monument of love. | |
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