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Thine, on its reckless and glancing way, 
Like an embodied breeze at play ! 
Child of the Sunshine, thou wing’d and free, 
One moment—one moment—I envied thee. 
Thou art not lonely, though born to roam, 
Thou hast no longings that pine for home; 
Thou seek’st not the haunts of the bee and bird, 
To fly from the sickness of Hope deferr’d. 
In thy brief being no strife of mind, 
No boundless passion is deeply shrined ; 
But I—as I gazed on thy swift flight by, 
One hour of my soul seem’d infinity ! 
Yet, ere I turn’d from that silent place, 
Or ceased from watching thy joyous race, 
Thou, even thow, on those airy wings, 
Didst waft me visions of brighter things ! 
Thou that dost image the free soul’s birth, 
And its flight away o’er the mists of earth, 
Oh! fitly thow shinest mid flowers that rise 
Round the dark chamber where Genius lies. 
END OF VOLUME FIRST, 
EDINBURGH: 
PRINTED BY M. AITKEN, 1, ST JAMES'S SQUARE. 
