THE DYING MINSTREL TO HIS MUSE.
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BY WILLIAM FALCONER.
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Farewell, gentle Muse! fare thee well, and for ever!
No more in the greenwood with thee must I stray:
Thy flowers which I cherished have bloomed but to wither,
Like youth’s vernal wreath, they all faded away:
Yet sweet was the morn, timid Muse, when I sought thee,