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Updated: May 27, 2025
Thou hast known deceit and folly, Thou hast felt that vice is woe; With a musing melancholy, Inly armed, go, maiden! go. Mother, sage of self dominion, Firm thy steps, O melancholy! The strongest plume in wisdom's pinion Is the memory of past folly. Mute the sky-lark and forlorn While she moults the firstling plumes, That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's odorous blooms.
It shot through the startled sky; And the torch of that blazing glory Old Lemnos caught on high, On its holy promontory, And sent it on, the jocund sign, To Athos, mount of Jove divine. Wildly the while it rose from the isle, So that the might of the journeying light Skimm'd over the back of the gleaming brine!
Mute the Lavrac and forlorn While she moults those firstling plumes That had skimm'd the tender corn, Or the bean-field's od'rous blooms; Soon with renovating wing, Shall she dare a loftier flight, Upwards to the day-star sing, And embathe in heavenly light. Myrtle Leaf, that, ill besped, Pinest in the gladsome ray, Soiled beneath the common tread, Far from thy protecting spray;
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