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MISCBLLAN EOUS POEMS. But, geatle soother of my pain, Thou must not leave me, tho' my strain; In auregarded notes, complain To me, alone: .Tho' Sorrow all thy themes supply, 'Till, spent each vital energy, With me thy mom?fui numbers die, Like me, unknown ! � THERE IS NO MUSIC IN THE HOL- LOWNESS O1? COMMON PRAISE." so?. 'Moltz sweet, to thirstin? Pilgrim's ear, The stream, that some green pasture laves, Than mighty ocean, roaring near, With all his multitude of waves. By pensive Eve, by sprightly Morn, One only Stax is still preferr'd,. And Night's pale Queen, thro' ether borne, will listen to one only bird. ......... ?Google
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