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But soon the frosts of death
Fell with their blighting power—
Beneath their icy breath
Wither'd the stranger flower !
CONNUBIAL LOVE. What, lonely, and unhappy too ? My friend, my Lucy, say'st thou so ?
"Tis passing strange to me! Lonely with him who won thy lore, Unhappy by his side to rove,—
Methinks it cannot be!
You speak of childhood's happy home, Lament the fate which bade thee roam
In untried paths afar; Breathing, in a most plaintive strain, The wish that thou wert back again,
Where all thy schoolmates are.
Ah 1 late a smile was on thy brow, "When thou didst breathe the marriage vow
With hopes so bright and fair; One year has pass'd, one fleeting year,— Still the same flowers are blooming here,
Which wreath'd thy glossy hair.
I twined that bridal wreath, my friend, And with each flower did wishes blend, That Lucy's lot below