Far, far too busy for my present peace,
O’er these the pensive fablings of your muse
I hung enamoured, whilst with anxious glance
The kindred feelings of my youthful years
In visionary view full glad I found,
And blissful dreams familiar to my heart,
O’er which sweet Hope her gilding pall had flung.
Such, oh! such scenes, with Myra to have shared,
Was all my fruitless prayers ere asked of Fate.
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