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Ah ! wretched and too solitary he Who loves not his own company !
He'll feel the weight oft many a day, Unless he calls in sin or vanity
To help to bear't away.
Two lovers by a moss-grown spring : They leaned soft cheeks together there; Mingled the dark and sunny hair,
And heard the wooing thrushes sing. O budding time ! 0 love's blest prime.
Beautiful flowers ! to me ye fresher seem From the Almighty hand that fashioned all, Than those that flourish by a garden wall; And I can image you, as in a dream, Fair, modest maidens, nursed in hamlets smalló I love ye all!
Nicholl. " Wild Flowers."
Stranger 1 however great,
With lowly reverence bow ; There's one in that poor shed, One by that paltry bed, Greater than thou.
Bowles. "The Pauper's Deathbed."
[e). Stanzas of Six Verses, called the Sestet
The pale, the cold, and the moony smile
Which the meteor-beam of a starless night Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isle,
Ere the dawning of morn's undoubted light, Is the flame of light so fickle and wan That flits round our steps till their strength is gone.
Sliclley. " Death."