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Florio had gained a rude and rocky seat,
She left the cave, nor marked the stranger there ;
Inform congenial spirits when they meet ?
Florio, with fearful joy, pursued the maid,
Yet here Remembrance, sweetly-soothing Power ! Winged with delight Confinement’s lingering hour. The fox's brush still emulous to wear, He scoured the county in his elbow-chair ; And, with view-halloo, roused the dreaming hound That rung, by starts, his deep-toned music round.
Long by the paddock's humble pale confined, His aged hunters coursed the viewless wind :
And each, with glowing energy portrayed,
But why the tale prolong ?–His only child,
red. But ah! few days had passed, cre the bright vision filed!
When evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue,
Whence erst the chanted hymn, the tapered rite
The wild deer, starting thro' the silent glade,
And now the moon had dimmed with dewy ray The few fine flushes of departing day. O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung, And her broad lights on every mountain flung; When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew, And to the surge consigned the little crew. All, all escaped—but ere the lover bore His faint and faded Julia to the shore, Her sense had fled !- Exhausted by wie storm, A fatal trance hung o'er her pallid form; Her closing eye a trembling lustre fired; 'Twas life's last spark—it futtered and expired!
The father strewed his white hairs in the wind, Called on his child—nor lingered long behind : And Florio lived to see the willow wave, With many an evening-whisper, o'er their grave. Yes, Florio lived—and, still of each possessed, The father cherished, and the maid caressed !
For ever would the fond enthusiast rove, With Julia's spirit, thro' the shadowy grove ; Gaze with delight on every scene she planned, Kiss every floweret planted by her hand. Ah! still he traced her steps along the glade, When hazy hues and glimmering lights betrayed Half-viewless forms; still listened as the breeze Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees ; And at each pause her melting accents caught, In sweet delirium of romantic thought! Dear was the grot that shunned the blaze of day; She gave
its spars to shoot a trembling ray. The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell, Murmured of Julia's virtues as it fell ; And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone, In Florio's ear breathed language not its own. Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY threw, A charm that soothes the mind, and sweetens too!