MI$C?LLANEOilS POEMS'. And who is tha? I .see reclind Bad beneath you blasted pine ? A lovely fo? lies eoM ?side,- As if but yes?ght it died. His lips ?e glu? t 0 that pale co?e Wi? p?sion's maddest, wildest, for?. No? he half ?ws' b?k to ?e Wi? looks in?nse; ?en feebly lays On that still bre?t his he? once,more, And seems ? p?t con?ls? all o'er. Now he bu? his'?ish'd ?, W?der ?ws his.restless gi?. With ?wn li?, ?d eyes upturn'd, And k? brow, ? d there bum'd A ?e wi?'his h?rt ?d br?n, Of raMdear,' wildest, k?n?t, p?n, W?ing he heaves d?p-la?ur'd sighs,' ?en ? ? his s?k?g ey? On ?e !ov'd clay,- wi? s?ny s?e, ? ifhls life we? c?ed ?ere. Oh, who such height of woe eo?d prove, Or l?k such l?ks of soul, but ?ve ? W?t m?e phantom still doth urn, Around you ?mb, his he?long course, o
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