Chapter XLI

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Be blessings on thee, Lady of my love!
As many blessings as thou did'st impart,
When to my breast thou cam'st like a young dove,
And made thy home in my all-happy heart.
Like the loved picture of his buried maid,
Which the sad lover keeps, and weeps the shade,
So Memory, to my early feelings true,
Preserves its passionate love in bidding hope adieu!