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Rh “’Tis youth, ’tis beauty asks; the green And growing leaves of seventeen Are round her; and, half hid, half seen,
 * A violet flower,

Nursed by the virtues she hath been
 * From childhood’s hour.”

Blind passion’s picture—yet for this We woo the life-long bridal kiss, And blend our every hope of bliss
 * With hers we love;

Unmindful of the serpent’s hiss
 * In Eden’s grove.

Beauty—the fading rainbow’s pride, Youth—’twas the charm of her who died At dawn, and by her coffin’s side
 * A grandsire stands,

Age-strengthened, like the oak storm-tried
 * Of mountain-lands.

Youth’s coffin—hush the tale it tells! Be silent, memory’s funeral bells! Lone in one heart, her home, it dwells
 * Untold till death,

And where the grave-mound greenly swells
 * O’er buried faith.