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62
FRANCIS KAZINCZI.
THE EPIGRAM.
Szökj,' Epigramma, di nem mint nyil melly czélra fut és öl.
Fly, Epigram, fly, but not like a barb that wounds as it hurries;
Fly like a kiss, which the loving one tremblingly steals;
Lo! 'tis just heard and retain'd—from the fire of the odorous maiden
Flames have been waked on my lips, and a heat has possess'd all my heart.
