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‹‹‹ prev (110) Page 94Page 94If the world were unkind

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Slpep on, said my soul, in the depth of thy slumbfr,
Slf-ep on, gentle bard, till the shades pass away;
For the lips of the living the ages shall number
That steal oVr thy heart in its couch of decay.
Oh, thou wert beloVd, from the dawn of thy childhood;
BelovM, till the last of thy suffering was seen:
Belov'd, now that o''er thee is waving the wild—wood.
And the worm only living where rapture has been.
Till the footsteps of time are their travel forsaking.
No form shall descend, and no dawning shall come.
To break the repose that thy ashes are taking.
And call them to life from their chamber of gloom.
Yet sleep, gentle bard! for though silent for ever
Thy harp in the hall of the chieftain is hung,
No time from the memorv of mankind shall se\er
The tales that it told, and the strains that it sung.
H. S. Riddell.

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