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To look upon the setting sun, and mark The twilight's dim approach. He said he was Most happy that all through his life one wish Had still been present on his soul—the wish That he might breathe his native air again;— That prayer was granted, for he died at home. One wept for him when other eyes were dry, Treasured his name in silence and in tears, Till her young heart's impassioned solitude Was filled but with his image. She had soothed And watched his last few hours—but he was gone! The grave to her was now the goal of hope: She pass'd, but gently as the rose-leaves fall Scattered by the spring gales. Two months had fled