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Literary Gazette, 31st January, 1829, Page 76
And if Fate have one stainless leaf,
That page to thee belong:
Sweet lady, only dream of grief,
And let the dream be song.
I pity those who sigh for thee,
I envy those who love;
For loved thy nature's formed to be,
As seraphs' are above.
I fling thee laurel offerings,
I own thy spirit's spell,
I greet the music of thy strings—
Sweet lady, fare thee well.
L. E. L.
