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I. LOVE : PERSONAL |
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No. 36. Fate gave the word—the arrow sped. |
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Fate gave the word—the arrow sped, And pierc'd my darling's heart;
And with him all the joys are fled Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops, In dust dishonour'd laid:
So fell the pride of all my hopes, My age's future shade. |
The mother-linnet in the brake
Bewails her ravish'd young; So I for my lost darling's sake
Lament the live-day long. Death, oft I've fear'd thy fatal blow,
Now fond I bare my breast! O, do thou kindly lay me low .
With him I love at rest! i |
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