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I marked the boy's companion: he was yet In life's first summer; and he seemed to watch With such sad tenderness the child, which came When tired to nestle in his bosom, sure That it was welcome,—and the grave was kept So fresh, so green, so covered with sweet flowers, I deemed 'twas some young widower, whose love Had pass'd away, or ever it had known One sting of sorrow or one cloud of care,— Pass'd in its first delicious confidence Of vowed affection;—'twas the grave, I thought, Of his young wife, and that the child was left A dear memorial of that cherished one. I read his history wrong. In early youth, When hopes and pleasures flit like butterflies Around our pleasant spring, had Edward loved,