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338 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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To each might blooming beauty fall, Lovely, thrice lovely, might they be;
But the gifts and graces of each and all Are mingled, sweet maid, in thee !
How the entranced ear fondly lingers
On the turns of thy thrilling song 1 How brightens each eye as thy fair white fingers
O'er the chords fly gently along ! The noble, the learned, the aged, the vain, Gaze on the songstress, and bless the strain. How winning, dear girl, is thine air, How glossy thy golden hair ! Oh ! loved one, come back again,
With thy train of adorers about thee — Oh ! come, for in grief and in gloom we remain —
Life is not life without thee.
My memory wanders—my thoughts have strayed —
My gathering sorrows oppress me — Oh ! look on thy victim, bright peerless maid,
Say one kind word to bless me. Why, why on thy beauty must I dwell, When each tortured heart knows its power too well ? Or why need I say that favored and blessed
Must be the proud land that bore thee ? Oh ! dull is the eye and cold the breast
That remains unmoved before thee. . |
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