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And as they mourn, she steals a tender sigh,
When, chill'd with sear, the trembling pilgrim roves
Ye heav'ns, for this in show'rs of sweetness shed
Long Long may her name, which distant climes shall praise,
Live in our notes, and bloflbm in our lays;
And, like an od'rous plant, whose blushing slow'r
Paints ev'ry dale, and sweetens ev'ry bow'r,
Born to the skies in clouds of soft persume
For ever flourish, and for ever bloom!
These gratesul songs, ye maids and youths, renew,
While fresh-blown vi'lets drink the pearly dew;
O'er Azib's banks while love-lorn damsels rove,
And gales of fragrance breathe from Hager's grove.
So sung the youth, whose sweetly-warbled strains
He He sung, till on the bank the moonlight flept, And closing flow'rs beneath the night-dew wept, Then ceas'd, and flumber'd in the lap of rest Till the shrill lark had left his low-built nest. Now hastes the swain to tune his rapt'rous tales In other meadows, and in other vales.
MILD was the vernal gale, and calm the day,