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Rh You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.

 

call my brother back again, I cannot play alone; The summer comes with flow'r and bee; Where is my brother gone? Oh! call my brother back to me, I cannot play alone.

The butterfly is glancing bright Across the sunbeam's track; I care not now to chase its flight— Oh! call my brother back. Oh! call, &c. The flowers run wild—the flowers we sow'd Around our garden-tree; Our vine is drooping with its load— Oh! call him back to me. Oh! call, &c.

He would not hear my voice, fair child! He may not come to thee; The face that once like spring-time smiled On earth no more thou'lt see! Thy brother is in heaven, my boy, And thou must play alone. 