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When lo! a winged boy I spy'd
With bow and quiver at his lide :
I wonder'd at his strange attire ;
Then friendly placid him near the fire,
My heart was bounteous and benign,
I warni'd his little hands in mine,
Cheer'd him with kind afsiduous care,
And

wrung the water from his hair. Soon as the fraudful youth was warm, " Let's try,” says he, “if any

larm “ Has chanc'd my bow this stormy night; “ I fear the wet has spoil'd it quite." With that he bent the fatal yew, And to the head an arrow drew; Loud twang'd the sounding tring, the dart Pierc'd through my bosom to my heart : Then laugh'd amain the wanıon boy, And “ Friend,”. he cried, “ I wish thee jay? “ Undamag'd is my bow, I fee, * But what a wretch I've made of thee!”

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How chearful along the gay mead,

The daily and cowslip appear,
The flocks as they carelessly feed,

Rejoice in the spring of the year;
The myrtles that shade the gay bow'rs,

The herbage that springs from the fod,
Trees, plants, cooling fruits, and sweet flow'rs,
All rise to the praise of my

God.
Shall man, the great master ef all,

The only, insensible prove?
Forbid it fair Gratitude's call,

Forbid it, Devotion and Love.
The Lord who such wonders could raise,

And still can destroy with a nod,
My lips fhall incessantly praise,

My soul shall be wrapt in my God!

THE END.

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