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5o THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Where they watch their flocks increase, And store the snowy fleece Till they send it to their masters to be woven o'er the waves; Where, having sent their meat, For the foreigner to eat, Their mission is fulfilled, and they creep into their graves.
'Tis for this they are dying where the golden corn is
growing, 'Tis for this they are dying where the crowded herds
are lowing, 'Tis for this they are dying where the streams of life are
flowing, And they perish of the plague where the breeze of health
is blowing! |
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WAITING FOR THE MAY
AH ! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May,— Waiting for the pleasant rambles, Where the fragrant hawthorn brambles, With the woodbine alternating,
Scent the dewy way. Ah ! my heart is weary waiting, Waiting for the May.
Ah ! my heart is sick with longing,
Longing for the May,— Longing to escape from study To the fair young face and ruddy, |
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