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STANZAS.

not weep that thou art laid Within the silent tomb; I weep not that the cold death-shade Hath marr'd thy youth's sweet bloom. 'Tis with no wish to wake thy sleep These tears thy grave bedew; Ah, no!—ah, no! I only weep I am not sleeping too. What is my life, but a vain show, Of its last hope bereft? What spell can soothe the soul of woe, That has but memory left? How dear, how very dear thou art, These bitter drops may tell;— Sole treasure of my lonely heart, A long and sad farewell!