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FAREWELL TO NANCY.

AE fond kiss-and then we sever!
Ae fareweel-alas, forever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee:
Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerfu' twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me.

I'll ne'er blame my partial fancy;
Naething could resist my Nancy:
But to see her was to love her,
Love but her, and love forever.
Had we never loved sae kindly,
Had we never loved sae blindly,
Never met-or never parted,

We had ne'er been broken-hearted.

Fare thee weel, thou first and fairest!
Fare thee weel, thou best and dearest!
Thine be ilka joy and treasure,
Peace, enjoyment, love, and pleasure!
Ae fond kiss-and then we sever!

Ae fareweel-alas, forever!

Deep in heart-wrung tears I'll pledge thee;

Warring sighs and groans I'll wage thee.

ROBERT BURNS.

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WHEN spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy again,

The murdered traveller's bones were found, Far down a narrow glen.

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung
Her tassels in the sky;

And many a vernal blossom sprung,
And nodded careless by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought
His hanging nest o'erhead;
And fearless, near the fatal spot,
Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away,
And gentle eyes, for him,

With watching many an anxious day,

Were sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so,
The fearful death he met,
When shouting o'er the desert snow,
Unarmed and hard beset;

Nor how, when round the frosty pole
The northern dawn was red,
The mountain wolf and wild-cat stole
To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones,

They dressed the hasty bier,

And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear.

MADRIGAL.

But long they looked, and feared, and wept,
Within his distant home;

And dreamed, and started as they slept,

For joy that he was come.

Long, long they looked-but never spied
His welcome step again,

Nor knew the fearful death he died,

Far down that narrow glen.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

MADRIGAL.

As I saw fair Chloris walk alone,
The feathered rain came softly down,
As Jove descending from his tower
To court her in a silver shower.
The wanton snow flew to her breast,
As little birds into their nest;
But, overcome with whiteness there,
For grief dissolved into a tear;
Thence falling on her garment's hem,
To deck her, froze into a gem.

ANONYMOUS

THE MOTTO.

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SOMEBODY sent me a dear little note,

The paper was Moinier's, the writing was fair;
Shall I here tell you what somebody wrote?

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No, let the Muse keep the secret from air,
But this was the motto the seal had to show,
This, "C'est le cœur qui fait valoir les mots."

Somebody walked with me, light was her tread
Over the beautiful sunshiny wold;

Shall I here tell you what somebody said?

The sunlight has faded—the words have grown cold— believe in the motto or no,

Do you
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"C'est le cœur qui fait valoir les mots."

Somebody sang me a sweet little song,

Full of all tender, unspeakable things,

Shall I repeat them? no, ever so long

They have flown off on the swiftest of wings,

And the nest they deserted is white with the snow;

Ah! "C'est le cœur qui fait valoir les mots."

Shall I with censure link somebody's name

For the note, and the walk, and the fly-away birds?
No, the dear creature was never to blame,

She had no heart to give value to words;
Sweetly as Hybla her accents may flow,
Mais, "C'est le cœur qui fait valoir les mots."

JOHN R. THOMPSON.

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