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46

And is my mother dead?
Is her pure spirit fled?
 Oh no! it cannot be:
She'd not have left me here
To shed the bitter tear
            Of misery.

Alas! she cannot hear!
No more upon her ear
 Will sound her daughter's voice;
That voice which always made
 Her tender heart rejoice
            With gladness.

Then hide me from the light!
Shroud me in darkest night,
 For all my peace is flown.