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This great disease for love I dre, There is no tongue can tell the wo; I love the love that loves not me, I may not mend, but mourning mo." The Mourning Maiden. I in these flowery meads would be, These crystal streams should solace me, To whose harmonious bubbling voice I with my angle would rejoice." Author:Izaak Walton.

Walter left his uncle, he hurried, scarcely conscious of his steps, towards his favourite haunt by the water-side. From a child, he had singled out that scene as the witness of his early sorrows or boyish schemes; and still, the solitude of the place cherished the habit of his boyhood.