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SON N V. TS. XXVI. THE CHILD OF EARLY SORROWS. I saw thee, like a vernal blossom wet With an untimely shower; thy cheek was pale, And thy young eyes told many a mournful tale Of early care and premature regret. Ah, there the drops of sorrow linger yet, Tho' the bland woolug of the Summer gale, And Summer rays, the moisture would exhale ! Thou hast a heart, that never can forget, And Memory weeps in thee, when Grief is past. Thou art a harp, which Woe so early strung, It scarce will answer to the touch of Joy, And if, poor orphan'd, sorrow-nurtur'd boy, O'er the fine chords a ruder hand be flung, Too much I fear, that they will break at last ! ......... ?Google
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