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80 And firt confes'd your way; And e'er your thoughts, devoid of art, Could learn the value of a heart, I gave my heart away.

I watch'd the dawn of every grace, And gaz'd upon that angel face, While yet 'twas afe to gaze; And fondly bles'd each riing charm, Nor thought uch innocence could harm The peace of future days.

But now depotic o'er the plains The awful noon of beauty reigns, And kneeling crowds adore; Thee charms arie too fiercely bright, Danger and death attend the ight, And I mut hope no more. Thus