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THE ROCK BESIDE THE SEA.
Oh! tell me not the woods are fair
Now Spring is on her way;
Well, well I know how brightly there
In joy the young leaves play;
How sweet on winds of morn or eve
The violet's breath may be;—
—Yet ask me, woo me not to leave
My lone rock by the sea.
The wild wave's thunder on the shore,
The curlew's restless cries,
Unto my watching heart are more
Than all earth's melodies.
