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First Line: A purling brook glides by this place away
Last Line: The waters murmur too in sympathy.
Subject(s): Grief; Sorrow; Sadness


A PURLING brook glides by this place away,
Its tribute to the royal Thames to pay,
Nature makes arbours here, and ev'ry tree
Disposes all its boughs to favour me;

The birds' sweet notes here Echo's do repeat,
Here gentle winds do moderate summer's heat:
Clear is the air, and verdant is the grass,
My couch of flowers, the stream's my looking-glass.

Ah, Cynthia! All the birds that hear and see,
Seem in their language to condole with me,
And as I mourn, they pretty songs do sing,
T' express thy rigour, and my suffering.

Whilst to the list'ning air I make my moan,
And sigh and murmur sitting here alone:
The very air sighs at my misery,
The waters murmur too in sympathy.





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