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is my purpose to resign The girl of clear and brilliant cheek, And gestures modest, kind, and meek— With grief so fearfully I pine, That all my powers of mind decline! The world will deem me wise to shun The maid who in the birks was won, And to renounce my hopeless suit, It is a labour without fruit; For her complexion’s radiant glow, With deep intensity of woe, Has been discoloured long ago! I can not nerve with strength the weak— And who can beautify the cheek? For sickness, and; alas! for care, She never can again be fair; The smoke from Eithig’s mouth that reeks Such havoc, on her features wreaks, And, like the fumes of burning peat, Sullies soft Enid’s features sweet!