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H, no, they shall not be forgot,

Those days of simple truth,—

The harmless sports and noisy joys

Of boyhood and of youth;

But when upon those early scenes

We suffer thought to dwell,

We'll drink to their dear memory from

The pure, the pure deep well.

We wander o'er each scene anew,

We tread each hallowed spot

Where time in giddy gladness flew,—

Oh, can they be forgot!

Roll back, roll back the tide of cares,

Roll back the swelling sea;

An hour we'll give to think upon

Our days of youthful glee;