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23

AIR VIII.

[_]

Tune, “Dremondoo.”

Grace.
O now he has left me, what care shall employ,
What object afford me the shadow of joy?
To a heart so o'erladen, all Sorrows are meet;
Misfortune is welcome, and mourning is sweet!

II

Away, ye companions of daily delight,
And pastimes that gently could steal on the night
Away, ye fond sports of the wake, and the fair!
Your pleasures are vanish'd—no brother is there!

III

Of the Ball, and the Hurling, the Dance, and the Race,
His skill was the victor, his person the grace:

24

The Maidens throng'd round him, delighted to see,
And wish'd they had all been his sisters, like me.

IV

Thus, every dear scene of my former delight,
To my mind will recal him, but not to my sight;
The trees will all droop, and the meadows look lone;
And all say—poor maid! thy Companion is gone!