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Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/228

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Thus has it been with Passion's fires,
As many a boy and girl remembers,
While all the force of love expires,
Extinguish'd with the dying embers.

But now, dear Long, 'tis midnight's noon,
And clouds obscure the watery moon,
Whose beauties I shall not rehearse,
Describ'd in every stripling's verse;
For why should I the path go o'er
Which every bard has trod before?[1]
Yet ere yon silver lamp of night
Has thrice perform'd her stated round,
Has thrice retrac'd her path of light,
And chas'd away the gloom profound,
I trust, that we, my gentle Friend,
Shall see her rolling orbit wend,
Above the dear-lov'd peaceful seat,
Which once contain'd our youth's retreat;
And, then, with those our childhood knew,
We'll mingle in the festive crew;
While many a tale of former day
Shall wing the laughing hours away;
And all the flow of souls shall pour
The sacred intellectual shower,
Nor cease, till Luna's waning horn,
Scarce glimmers through the mist of Morn.

  1. And what's much worse than this I find
    Have left their deepen'd tracks behind
    Yet as yon——.—[MS. Newstead.]