And I the well-remember’d past should wrong, 135
Neglecting thee, e’en in a transient song!
Oh! who could silent pass a scene less fair,
If life had dawned, and hope had blossom’d there!
If youth’s bright flowers in gay variety
Thy soil had nursed—no matter where to die, 140
If happiness—that gift of early years!
Had marked each scene which contrast more endears;
If long-loved voices seem to haunt the place,
And forms there hover, which no hand may trace;