Song.

SONG.

O Tuneful voice, I still deplore Those accents which, tho' heard no more, Still vibrate on my heart; In echo's cave I long to dwell, And still would hear the sad farewell, When we were doom'd to part.

Bright eyes, O that the task were mine, To guard the liquid fires that shine, And round your orbits play; To watch them with a vestal's care, And feed with smiles a light so fair. That it may ne'er decay.