Dicemi Spesso Il Mio Fidato Speglio. He Awakes To A Conviction Of The Near Approach Of Death. My Faithful Mirror Oft To Me Has Told-- My Weary Spirit And My Shrivell'D Skin My Failing Powers To Prove It All Begin-- "Deceive Thyself No Longer, Thou Art Old." Man Is In All By Nature Best Controll'D, And If With Her We Struggle, Time Creeps In; At The Sad Truth, On Fire As Waters Win, A Long And Heavy Sleep Is Off Me Roll'D; And I See Clearly Our Vain Life Depart, That More Than Once Our Being Cannot Be: Her Voice Sounds Ever In My Inmost Heart. Who Now From Her Fair Earthly Frame Is Free: She Walk'D The World So Peerless And Alone, Its Fame And Lustre All With Her Are Flown. Macgregor. The Mirror'D Friend--My Changing Form Hath Read. My Every Power'S Incipient Decay-- My Wearied Soul--Alike, In Warning Say "Thyself No More Deceive, Thy Youth Hath Fled." 'Tis Ever Best To Be By Nature Led, We Strive With Her, And Death Makes Us His Prey; At That Dread Thought, As Flames The Waters Stay, The Dream Is Gone My Life Hath Sadly Fed. I Wake To Feel How Soon Existence Flies: Once Known, 'Tis Gone, And Never To Return. Still Vibrates In My Heart The Thrilling Tone Of Her, Who Now Her Beauteous Shrine Defies: But She, Who Here To Rival, None Could Learn, Hath Robb'D Her Sex, And With Its Fame Hath Flown. Wollaston.