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THE CARRIER DOVE. |
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Oh, fly to her bower, and say the chain
Of the tyrant is o'er me now; That I never again shall mount my steed again,
With helmet upon my brow. No friend to my latice a solace brings,
Except when your voice is heard, When you beat the bars with your snowy wings
Then fly to her bower, sweet bird. |
I shall miss thy visit at dawn, sweet dove,
I shall miss thy visit at eve, But bring me a line 'rom my lady love,
And then I shall cease to grieve; I can bear in a dungeon to waste away youth,
I can fall by the conqueror's sword, But I cannot endure she should doubt my truth;
Then fly to her bower, sweet bird |
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