Nor muse in thy cloisters at eve's pensive hour.
"Oh, how shall I leave you, ye hills and ye dales,
When lost in sad musing, though sad not unblest,
A lone pilgrim I stray--Ah! in these lonely vales,
I hoped, vainly hoped, that the pilgrim might rest.
"Yet rest is far distant--in the dark vale of death,
Alone I shall find it, an outcast forlorn--
But hence vain complaints, though by fortune bereft
Of all that could solace in life's early morn.
Is not man from his birth doomed a pilgrim to roam
O'er the world's dreary wilds, whence by fortune's rude gust.
In his path, if some flowret of joy chanced to bloom,
It is torn and its foliage laid low in the dust."
At length she fixed upon a day for her departure. On the day previous,
she paid a farewell visit to the Abbey; wandering over every part of
the grounds and garden; pausing and lingering at every place
particularly associated with the recollection of Lord Byron; and
passing a long time seated at the foot of the monument, which she used
to call "her altar." Seeking Mrs. Wildman, she placed in her hands a
sealed packet, with an earnest request that she would not open it until
after her departure from the neighborhood.
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