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GILDEROY.

THE laft, the fatal hour is come

That bears my love from me;

I hear the dead note of the drum,

I mark the gallows tree!

The bell has toll'd; it shakes my heart;

The trumpet fpeaks thy name;

And must my Gilderoy depart

To bear a death of shame!

No bofom trembles for thy doom;

No mourner wipes a tear;

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Alas! his infant beauty wears

The form of Gilderoy !

Then will I feek the dreary mound,
That wraps thy mouldering clay;

And weep and linger on the ground,

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THE HARPER

On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was fo happy as I;

No harp like my own could fo cheerily play,

And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.

When at last I was forc'd from my Sheelah to part, 5

She faid (while the forrow was big at her heart),

Oh! remember Sheelah when far far away;

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And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray.

Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be fure, And he constantly lov'd me, although I was poor; When the four-looking folks fent me heartless away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.

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