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lady emmeline.
29
For not to thee, with niggard hand, assign'd
The transient triumph of some local strain:
Thine, the proud empire of the enthusiast mind,
Thine, the fine chords which swell to pleasing pain;
To joy's tumultuous throb, to mystic fear,
To friendship's bosom glow, or pity's hallow'd tear!

Lo! where the oral Muse of former time
By thee invok'd, in gothic state descends,
With potent hand awakes the runic rhyme,
And the thick veil of dark oblivion rends!
See from the tomb the fateful weapon wave![1]
Oh cease the mutter'd rite! respect the secret grave!

To drop soft dews on beauty's wither'd flower,
From the full breast to urge the slow-heav'd sigh,

  1. See Miss Seward's Runie Dialogue, Hervar and Argantyr.