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Art thou, my G**** *, for ever filed!
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. 'Tis meet that I should mourn :--flow forth afresh my tears.
WHEN in the crimson cloud of Even,
the silent vale, unseen,
Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled
• This, and most of the following pieces, are taken from a Collection of Juvenile Poems by the same hand, published many years ago. The Editor hopes they will be agreeable to his readers : but was with difficulty he could prevail on the Author to consent to their being reprinted.
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!
O wilt thou to thy favourite grove