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E'en when in age their flame expires,
Her dulcet breath can fan its fires:
Their drooping fancy wakes at praise,
And strives to trim the short-lived blaze.
Smiled then, well-pleased, the Aged Man, And thus his tale continued ran.
LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.
CALL it not vain :they do not err,
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,
And celebrates his obsequies;
say, tall cliff, and cavern lone, For the departed bard make moan; That mountains weep in crystal rill; That flowers in tears of balm distil;