216 
O’er the ancient rain, sighing, 
When the sun’s last ray is dying, 
Or to fashion’s vortex flying, 
Even there, if thou may’st be, 
There my thoughts must follow thee! 
In the revel — in the dance — 
With the firm familiar friend — 
Or, where Thespian arts entrance, 
Making mirth and sadness blend; 
Where the living pageant glowing, 
O’er thy heart its spell is throwing, 
Mimic life in 1 alto ’ showing, 
There, beloved, if thou may’st be, 
There, still there, I follow thee! 
When the weary day is over, 
And thine eyes in slumber close, 
Still, oh! still, inconstant rover, 
Do I charm thee to repose; 
