82
on the decline of genus, &c.
Farewel silent lyre! for thy once cherish'd strain
So lofty and sweet thrills the bosom no more,
Thy strings are all broken, and never again
On the rapt ear of taste shall thy melodies pour!
So lofty and sweet thrills the bosom no more,
Thy strings are all broken, and never again
On the rapt ear of taste shall thy melodies pour!
And S———d farewel! soon the slumber of years
Shall shed its repose o'er thy world-wearied breast*[1]
But the dim smile of Memory shall shine thro' her tears,
As she rescues thy name from the regions of rest.
Shall shed its repose o'er thy world-wearied breast*[1]
But the dim smile of Memory shall shine thro' her tears,
As she rescues thy name from the regions of rest.
- ↑ The accomplishment of this event too soon followed its prediction.
