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380 FOREST MELODIES.
Ah, poor old blind man! thou art gone— Adieu—adieu—with tears, adieu!
My fond desires must be withdrawn; They may not follow after you!
I '11 go, and ask of Him who gave This soul a love for the sublime,
To grant me strength the winds to brave, The adverse winds and waves of time.
There's much of beauty thrown
Along the way we take; These mighty forests, huge and lone,
A sense of grandeur wake.
The simple, mossy flowers,
Beside the purling rill— The songsters in the leafy bowers,
Which can the bosom thrill.
The gold and purple mass
Of floating clouds at even, Which in their silent beauty pass,
Like spirits wing'd for heaven.
All these, my gentle friend,
Have charms for hearts like thine;
But there is something which can lend A radiance more divine.