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nancy's brook.
There came the hour of worldly care,—
As come it will to tenderest heart:
He must go forth to earn them bread,
And they must weep, for they must part.

They made no vow of deathless love:
Ah! who can speak that feels as they?
These hills shall crumble into dust,
Ere love like theirs shall pass away.

Far from his Nancy, William went;
Sore was his bosom's silent strife:
He lived and labored for that day
When Nancy should become his wife.

Now winter comes; through stiffen'd trees
The north wind sweeps with angry roar;
All shivering with cold there stands
A traveller at the cottage door.

Who is it opens it for him?
Who takes the letter from his hands?
'T is Nancy; see, she reads;—and see,
White as the drifted snow she stands.

"William is ill; may die,"—she cries;
"'T is I alone can soothe his pain;
He sends for me, and I will go;"
And now her color comes again.