I)UETS? GLRES? ?C. ?,ove, my Mary, ne'er can roam, ?While he makes that eye his home, No, the eye with sorrow dim, Ne'er can be a home for Ne'er can be, no, no, no, A home for him, no, no. Yet 'tis not-in beamin? eyes, Love forever warmest lies; In my heart his home thou'it There he lives; end lives for thee. SWEET THE HOUR.--? SwE?T the ho? when freed from labor, Lads and lasses thus convene; - To the merry pipe and tabor, Dancing ?aily on the green, Sweet the hour, Nymphs with all their native graces, Swains with every charm to win; Sprightly steps and smiling face? Tell of happy hearts within. Sweet the hour, &? Blest with plenty, hem the Farmer, Toils for those he loves alone; While some pretty smiling charmer, Like the land is all his own. Sweet the hour, ?he' a tear fo? prospects blighted, May at times unbidden flow, . Yet the heart will bound d.elighted,' Where such kindred bosoms glow. Sweet the hoer, 18J
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