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With lines of the world's warfare, are not such As linger with a ready sympathy O'er the foot-prints of sorrow; yet that cheek Was startled into paleness as he read !—and the mossy date which told She had been tenant of that tomb for years. ,—for he it was had sought the vale, But upon warlike mission—if he thought Of his once love, it was but how to shun The meek reproaching of her mournful eye, Or else to think she had like him forgot. But dead!—so young!—he had not dream'd of this.— He knelt him down, and like a child he wept:— Gentle affections struggled with, subdued— Tenderness, long forgotten, now burst forth Like rain drops from the summer sky. Those tears