And, haply, the world, with its coldness, will chill
My feelings at length, as bleak winter the rill.
Adieu to thy scenes, adieu to thee now!
There is grief in my spirit—there is gloom on my brow—
Though Fancy may paint all thy beauty once more,
The days that have flitted, she cannot restore.
VIRGINIA.
Thy soil, Virginia! is all hallowed ground,