Why, alas! should bitter pain arise
From the noblest passion that we prove?
Thou, kind soul, bewailest, lov’st him well,
From disgrace his memory’s saved by thee;
Lo, his spirit signs from out its cell:
BE A MAN, NOR SEEK TO FOLLOW ME.
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SISTER of the first-born light,
Quivering mists in silv’ry dressFloat around thy features bright;When thy gentle foot is heard,From the day-closed caverns thenWake the mournful ghosts of men,I, too, wake, and each night-bird.O’er a field of boundless spanLooks thy gaze both far and wide.Raise me upwards to thy side!Grant this to a raving man!And to heights of rapture raised,Let the…
WITH a bridegroom’s joyous bearing,
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