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Rh As a partridge brown; And I crouch in the brake Ere the sun goes down, Till she pass when her work is done.

In three days more, To her father's door— If I 'scape the keen pursuit— I'll come with the spoil, And I'll tell my dear Of the danger and toil, And she'll tremblingly hear, Whilst her eyes shine comfort mute. W. C. Scully.