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ROSALIE.

'Tis a wild tale—and sad, too, as the sigh That young lips breathe when love's first dreamings fly; When blights and cankerworms, and chilling showers, Come withering o'er the warm heart's passion-flowers. Love! gentlest spirit! I do tell of thee,— Of all thy thousand hopes, thy many fears, Thy morning blushes, and thy evening tears; What thou hast ever been, and still will be,— Life's best, but most betraying witchery!