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SECOND SIGHT.
249
SECOND SIGHT.
Ne'er err'd the prophet heart that grief inspired,
Though joy's illusions mock their votarist.
Maturin.
A mournful gift is mine, O friends!
A mournful gift is mine!
A murmur of the soul which blends
With the flow of song and wine.
An eye that through the triumph's hour,
Beholds the coming woe,
And dwells upon the faded flower
'Midst the rich summer's glow.
L 2
