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Need I relate that, reconciled, The father bless'd his truant child.

  is the heart that has not bow'd A slave, eternal Love, to thee: Look on the cold, the gay, the proud, And is there one among them free? The cold, the proud,—oh! Love has turn'd The marble till with fire it burn'd; The gay, the young,—alas that they Should ever bend beneath thy sway! Look on the cheek the rose might own, The smile around like sunshine thrown; The rose, the smile, alike are thine, To fade and darken at thy shrine. 