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TO Once more I awaken my harp's lonely slumber, To tell thee, thou lov'd one thou art not forgot; And how often in solitude sadly I number The rapturous pleasures that once were my lot. How little I thought, while affection the sweetest And purest illumined life's opening day, That love of all joys on this earth was the fleetest, And hope only sparkled to soothe and betray. And dear were the friends in whose circle I found thee, Far dearer than any my fortune has tried And, oh! how much dearer the scenes that surround thee, Than all I have passed in life's journey beside. No smile to enliven, no ear to regard it, My harp long in silence and sadness has hung; For where are the lips that were wont to reward it With praises more sweet than the numbers it sung 1 And where are the eyes that rejoic'd in their capture Alas 'tis the memory only remains Of all that could brighten and waken to rapture A heart but too happy and proud in its chains. The light of past joys to the mind, fondly giv'n By memory's magic, tho' cheering its glow, Shines transiently bright, like the azure of Heav'n Thro' clouds dark and rapidly passing below. And so the dim sun, when be sinks on his pillow Of clouds, at the close of a desolate day, With tremulous beam, faintly touches the billow That coldly and darkly beats under his ray. No wonder the heart's sensibilities slumber, So few the enjoyments that lighten our pains; And if we take friendship and love from the number, But little to charm and to bless us remains. PERDU.

.■HOUSE OF LORDS.

HOUSE OF COMMONS.

To the Editor of the Monmouthshire…

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