 | Poems |  |
101
ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
Groves, that of late I lov'd so well, adieu!
Dear to my soul, accept its parting sigh:
Yet oft shall Memory your lost shades review,
Still shall you flourish to her faithful eye.
Dear to my soul, accept its parting sigh:
Yet oft shall Memory your lost shades review,
Still shall you flourish to her faithful eye.
There was a time when through your bowers to rove,
And with untutor'd fingers touch the lyre;
My breast unvisited of other love,
Than such as Phœbus and his train inspire,
And with untutor'd fingers touch the lyre;
My breast unvisited of other love,
Than such as Phœbus and his train inspire,
Delighted me. Ah! Time of bliss, return
With healing on thy wings!—In vain I cry:
Destin'd in hopeless misery to mourn,
In vain I roam beneath another sky;
With healing on thy wings!—In vain I cry:
Destin'd in hopeless misery to mourn,
In vain I roam beneath another sky;
And 'mid new scenes the fugitive explore:
For joy shall solace this sad heart no more.
For joy shall solace this sad heart no more.
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