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Yes! he has left me, all alone!
The treachery's make his footsteps rove pangs of widowhood to prove
O & how I loved him, – he is gone,
And still I love him – madly love –
Where'er he roves – deceitful one!
There all my fond affections rove
Sleep &c.
But he is here – in thee, in thee
The image of thy sire I trace;
Thy voice shall sound as sweet to me –
His joyous smile shall light thy face
O be not treacherous as he –
But keep his winning charm of living grace
Sleep
Thou knowst not, privileged infant! thou
What these sad tears thy mother pours
And mayst thou never, never know
Such misery as she deplored
For life severest, sharpest woe
Is to condemn what one adores.
Sleep &c.
Identifier: | JB/110/202/002 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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202 |
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002 |
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collectanea |
3 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36192 |
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