Hark! how through many a melting note
She now prolongs her lays:
How sweetly down the
void they float!
The breeze their magic path attends;
The stars shine out; the forest bends;
Whoeer thou art whom chance may bring
To this sequesterd spot,
If then the plaintive Siren
O softly tread beneath her bower
And think of Heavens disposing power,
Of mans uncertain lot.
O think, oer all this mortal stage
What mournful scenes arise:
What ruin waits on kingly rage;
often virtue dwells with woe;
How many griefs from knowledge flow;
How swiftly pleasure flies!
O sacred bird! let me at eve,
Thus wandering all alone,
Thy tender counsel oft receive,
witness to thy pensive airs,
And pity Natures common cares,
Till I forget my own.
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