69 



Ready the burning broth, the fated hour has come ! 

 Trembling, appalled, each dreads the coming doom. 

 In memory, each the pleasing scene surveys 

 Where passed the peaceful hours of happier days, 

 The silvery stream, the far extending shore 

 With weed and clam-shells all besprinkled o er. 

 The verdant slime, the mossy rocks overhead, 

 The yielding mud that formed their native bed ; 

 Scenes of their early childhood s simple bliss, 

 Or mutual love s maturer happiness. 

 Where peace, o er all diffused its magic spell, 

 And sweet contentment smiled in every shell ; 

 Where Friendship s genial ray each bosom warmed, 

 Doubled each joy, and every fear disarmed. 

 Where oft by Fancy led, in sportive mood, 

 They scaled the rocks, or burrowed in the mud. 

 Roamed o er the pebbly shore, or mid the reeds 

 Chased their kind loves and sought the cooling 



shades. 

 There, sheltered close from Phoebus noontide 



beam, 



Wooed the soft breeze that crept along the stream, 

 Told their fond longings to the listening fair, 

 And claimed for love its sweetest triumphs there ; 

 Where, all at ease, beneath the genial day, 



