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Adieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,
Here on his recent grave I fix my view,
Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled ?
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears. "Tis meet that I should mourn: flow forth afresh my tears.
* This excellent person died suddenly, on the 10th of February, 1773. The conclusion of the poem was written a few days after
When in the crimson cloud of Even
Ye cliffs in hoary grandeur piled
Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!
O wilt thou to thy favourite grove