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ronicle of actions just and bright-- There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine; And since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. _W. Cowper_ CCIV _TO THE SAME_ The twentieth year is well-nigh past Since first our sky was overcast; Ah would that this might be the last! My Mary! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see thee daily weaker grow-- 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more; My Mary! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, Thy sight now seconds not thy will, My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart, My Mary! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter'd in a dream; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, My Mary! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light, My Mary! For could I view nor them nor thee, What sight worth seeing could I see? The sun would rise in vain for me, My Mary! Partakers of thy sad decline Thy hands their little force resign; Yet, gently prest, press gently mine, My Mary! Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st That now at every step thou mov'st Upheld by two; yet still thou lov'st, My Mary! And still to love, though prest with ill, In wintry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, My Mary! But ah! by constant heed I know How oft the sadness that I show Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, My Mary! And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance of the past, Thy worn-out heart will break at last-- My Mary! _W. Cowper_ CCV _THE CASTAWAY_ Obscurest night involved the sky, The Atlantic billows roar'd, When such a destined wretch as I, Wash'd headlong from on board, Of friends, of hope, of all bereft, His floating home for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast Than he with whom he went, Nor ever ship left Albion's coast With warmer wishes sent. He l
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