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 Ta lick Corin's hand he rear'd up his week head, Then fell back clos'd his eyes, and ah! clos'd them for ever.





OH why should we seek to anticipate sorrow, By throwing the flower of the present away, And gather the black rolling clouds of to-morrow To darken the generous sun of to-day.

How often we brood over misery madly, Till we murder the hope that was sent to inspire, And pleasure grown old and decrupit turns sadly, To shake his grey locks o'er the tomb of his sire.

Cherish hope! and tho' life by affliction be shaded, Still his ray shall shine lovely, and gild the scene o'er Like the dew-drop that glisters the leaves when they're fade; As bright and sae clear as it glisten'd before.





FIRST when Maggy was my care, Heaven, I thought, was in her hair;