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LINES ADDRESSED TO AN OLD PLEASURE HOUSE.

And thou wert built with promise fair
Of many a happy day;
And breathings sweet of balmy air,
And fields in liv'ry gay,
And murmurings of rippling streams,
And buds and blossoms filling
Accorded to the lightsome dreams,
With which the heart was thrilling,
That rear'd thy roof.—But where are fled
The joys in fancy's eye?
Wild moss along thy path is spread,
And ruins moulder nigh.
Oh! let not from thy weed-clad cell
One leaf removed be;
Where Melancholy's wont to dwell,
Is Pleasure's house to me.