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THE MOTHER'S WARNING.
I shall see that cheek grow pale,
As the lily in the vale.
I shall hear those steps whose flight
Is so musical and light,
Dragging onwards languid slow,
Caring nothing where they go.
Woe! for all I see will come!
Woe for our deserted home!
If to love thy choice shall be,
Farewell, my sweet child, to thee!
