165v [=125v]

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167

At her approach indignant Honor flies,
And weeping Love his drooping roses tears,
Chill'd by her touch Enthusiasm dies,
And Virtue's self a colder aspect wears.-

O turn from Truth, to Fancy's lovelier tale
And tell of mighty Hero's now no more,
Or sainted Names who in yon fruitful Vale
Bade the white Convent rise.-- the charm is o'er.

Receding Rocks a gentler view disclose,
Of humble Villages and fertile fields,
And slowly on the lingering River flows,
Where the rich plain an ampler harvest yields.

Oh fairy Land! oft shall such views arise
Like morning dreams in youths delightful day,
While fond remembrance to restore thee tries,
Then weeps to find that thou are far away.-

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