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ANTICIPATION.
False thought—false hope—in scorn be banished!
I am not loved—nor loved have been;
Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished,
Traitors! mislead me not again!
To words like yours I bid defiance,
'Tis such my mental wreck have made;
Of God alone, and self-reliance,
I ask for solace—hope for aid.
Morn comes—and ere meridian glory
O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile,
Both lonely wood and mansion hoary
I'll leave behind, full many a mile.
Currer.
ANTICIPATION.
How beautiful the earth is still,
To thee—how full of happiness!
How little fraught with real ill,
Or unreal phantoms of distress!
How spring can bring thee glory, yet,