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THE OLD MAN'S TEARS. |
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Above my pillow of repose;
Or sings to me, at daylight's close,
Some solemn air, Whose thrilling numbers late arose
In sweetness there.
" Methinks I see at morning light, And through the watches of the night,
That look so mild— That mother's tender look' of love, It follows me where'er I rove,.
That still, sad smile— 0 ! stoops she not from heaven above,
To bless her child?" |
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THE OLD MAN'S TEARS.
The last faint smile of twilight Was ling'ring in the west,
And nature's harp of myriad strings Hung languidly at rest.
I rose from the turf that covers A brother's mold'ring form,
Where I had just been kneeling To plant a wild rose germ.
When lo! a step intrusive Among the tombs I heard, |
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