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Oh thus to wear away my useful life,

And, when I'm call'd, in rapturous hope to die, Thus to rob heaven of all the good I can, And challenge earth to show a happier man!


My own little darling dead!
The dove of my happiness fled!
Just Heaven, forgive,
But let me not live,
Now my poor babe is dead:

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No more to my yearning breast
Shall that sweet mouth be prest,
No more on my arm,
Nestled up warm,

Shall my fair darling rest:

Alas, for that dear glaz'd eye,
Why did it dim or die?

Those lips so soft,
I have kissed so oft,
Why are they ice, oh why?

Alas, little frocks and toys,
Shadows of bygone joys;

Have I not treasure
Of bitterest pleasure
In these little frocks and toys?

O harrowing sight to behold
That marble-like face all cold,

That small cherish'd form
Flung to the worm,

Deep in the charnel-mould!

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Yes, - welcome pain, which Thou hast sent,Yes, - farewell blessings, Thou hast lent,

With Thee alone I rest content,

For Thou art Heav'n,


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The pale narcissus tells of youth
Nurtured in purity and truth;
Violets on the moss-bank green,
Of sweet benevolence unseen;
A rose is blooming charity;
A snow-drop, fair humility;
Yon golden crocus, smiling sweetly,
Smiles, alas, to perish fleetly;
That hyacinth, with cluster'd bells,
Of sympathy in sorrow tells;
This young mimosa, as it trembles,
Affection's thrilling heart resembles;
And the glazed myrtle's fragrant bloom
Hints at a life that mocks the tomb.

What is a flower? a beauteous gem
Set in nature's diadem,

A sunbeam o'er her tresses flung,
A word from her poetic tongue;
A silent burst of eloquence,

A plaything of Omnipotence;-
The poet's eye sees much in these

To learn, and love, and praise, and please.

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It is most genial to a soul refined,

When love can smile unblushing, unconcealed, When mutual thoughts, and words, and acts are kind, And inmost hopes and feelings are revealed; When interest, duty, trust, together bind,

And the heart's deep affections are unsealed, When for each other live the kindred pair, — Here is indeed a picture passing fair!

Hail, happy state! which few have heart to sing,
Because they feel how faintly words express
So kind, and dear, and chaste, and sweet a thing
As tried affection's lasting tenderness;
Yet stop, my venturous muse! and fold thy wing
Nor to a shrine so sacred rudely press;
For, marriage, thine is still a silent boast,
"Like beauty unadorned, adorned the most."

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