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on the death of the marquis of hastings.
Where flowers are lovely, fair, and bright,
The earth upon them smile,
And thus we think in later days
Of when we were a child!
The earth upon them smile,
And thus we think in later days
Of when we were a child!
How the waves of Time roughly sweep,
O'er all our youthful joys;—
They bear us on yet only leave
Hopes tainted with alloy
O'er all our youthful joys;—
They bear us on yet only leave
Hopes tainted with alloy
