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L OVE NOT |
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Love not, love not! ye hapless sons of clay! Hope's gayest wreaths are made of earthly flowers — Things that are made to fade and fall away, Ere they have blossomed for a few short hours. Love not!
Love not! the thing ye love may change;
The rosy lip may cease to smile on you, The kindly-beaming eye grow cold and strange,
The heart still warmly beat, yet not be true ! Love not! |
Love not! the thing you love may die,—
May perish from the gay and gladsome earth; The silent stars, the biue and smiling sky, Beam o'er its grave, as once upon its birth. Love not!
Love not! O warning vainly said
In present hours as in years gone by!
Love flings a halo round the dear ones' head Faultless, immortal, till they change or die. Love not! |
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COME, PLAY ME THAT SIMPLE AIR.
Thomas Moore wrote, and often- sang this familiar song. He could sing his own songs as no artist has been able to sing them, and Byron, Scott, and many others have testified to their great delight in hearing him. The melody is from a Waltz by Labitzky. |
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1. Come, plav me*that sim - pie air a-gain, 1 used so to love in life's young day,And
2. Sweet air! how ev - 'rv note brings back Some sun - ny hope, some day-dream bright,That
3. But sing me the well-known air once more, For thoughts of youth still haunt its strain,Like |
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