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13

VI. SONG.

Ye dreary wilds, ye pathless glades,
Whose gloom no sounds of joy infest;
Amid your sadly-silent shades
I seek the tranquil seat of rest.
Here let me lie in peace reclined,
Here let my loud lamenting close:
May no rude voice, no rustling wind
Disturb a mourners sweet repose!
If roused by love's impassion'd strain,
These eyelids ope again to weep;
May death, dissolving sorrow's chain,
Reward my cares with endless sleep!