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16 But they who have lov'd the fondest, the purest,
 * Too often have wept o'er the dream they believ'd;

And the heart, that has slumber'd in friendship securest,
 * Is happy indeed, if 'twas never deceiv'd.

But send round the bowl, while a relic of truth
 * Is in man or in woman, this prayer shall be mine,—

That the sun-shine of love may illumine our youth,
 * Arid the moon-light of friendship console our decline.