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Some grot or grassy bank shall be my bier,
My maiden herse unwater'd with a tear."

Thus while me moums, o'erwhelm'd in deep despair, She rends her silken robes, and golden hair: Her fatal ring, the cause of all her woes, On a hard rock with mad'ning rage she throws; The gem, rebounding from the stone, displays Its verdant hue, and sheds refreshing rays: Sudden descends the genius of the ring, And drops celestial fragrance from his wing; Then speaks, "Who calls me from the realms of day? "Ask, and I grant; command, and I obey."

She drank his melting words with ravish *d ears, And stop'd the gushing current of her tears; Then kiss'd his skirts, that like a ruby glow'd, And said, "O bear me to my sire's abode."

Straight o'er her eyes a shady veil arose, And all her soul was lull'd in still repose.

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By this with flow'rs the rosy-singer'd dawn
Had spread each dewy hill and verd'rous lawn;
She wak'd, and saw a new-built tomb that stood
In the dark bosom of a solemn wood,
While these sad founds her trembling ears invade:
"Beneath yon marble sleeps thy father's shade."
She sigh'd, she wept; she struck her pensive breast,
And bade his urn in peaceful /lumber rest.

And now in silence o'er the gloomy land
She saw advance a slowly-winding band;
Their cheeks were yeil'd, their robes of mournful hue
Flow'd o'er the lawn, and swept the pearly dew:
O'er the fresh turf they sprinkled sweet perfume,
And strowM with flow'rs the venerable tomb.
A graceful matron walk'd before the train,
And tun'd in notes of wo a plaintive strain:
When from her face her silken veil she drew,
The watchful maid her aged mother knew.


O'erpow'r'd with bursting joy she runs to meet
The mourning dame, and falls before her feet:
The matron with surprize her daughter rears,
Hangs on her neck, and mingles tears with tears.
Now o'er the tomb their hallow'd rites they pay,
And form with lamps an artificial day:
Erelong the damsel reach'd her native vale,
And told with joyful heart her moral tale;
Resign'd to heav'n, and lost to all beside,
She liv'd contented, and contented died.

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Written in the Year 1767.

DE C K'D with fresh garlands, like a rural bride,
And with the crimson streamer's waving pride,
A wanton bark was sloating o'er the main,
And seem'd with scorn to view the azure plain:
Smooth were the waves, and scarce a whisp'ring gale
Fan'd with his gentle plumes the silken sail.
High on the burnish'd deck a gilded throne
With orient pearls and beaming diamonds flione;


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