To me, sweet friends, in other days.
And oh! when music’s voice is heard
To melt in strains of parting woe,
When hearts to love and grief are stirr’d,
Think of me then!—I go, I go!
ANGEL VISITS.
“No more of talk where God or angel guest With man, as with his friend, familiar used To sit indulgent and with him partake Rural repast.” Milton.
Are ye for ever to your skies departed?
Oh! will ye visit this dim world no more?
Ye, whose bright wings a solemn splendour darted