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There was a grave just closed. Not one seemed near, To pay the tribute of one long—last tear! How very desolate must that one be, Whose more than grave has not a memory! Then thought on her mother's age,— Just such her end would be with her away: No child the last cold death-pang to assuage— No child by her neglected tomb to pray! She asked—and like a hope from Heaven it came!— To hear them answer with a stranger's name. She reached her mother's cottage; by that gate She thought how her once lover wont to wait To tell her honied tales!—and then she thought On all the utter ruin he had wrought!