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400 FOREST MELODIES.
Since we together dwelt, She had been ranging an immortal clime, Free from each touch of care, or stain of guilt,
Or shade of grief or time.
Her soul had laved its wing In the blest fountain of eternal love ; And she had tuned her harp where angels sing,
In the bright courts above.
And Iómy path had been On through a mystic realm of doubt and shade, A world of woe, a clime defiled by sin,
Where hopes the brightest fade.
A moment at my side, She spoke of pleasures that may never die; Told me I soon should cross death's stormy tide,
And meet her in the sky.