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He all the country could outrun,
Old Ruth works out of doors with him,
Beside their moss-grown hut of clay,
Few months of life has he in store,
O reader ! had you in your mind
One summer-day I chanced to see
.“ You're overtasked, good Simon Lee,
The tears into his eyes were brought, And thanks and praises seemed to run "So fast out of his heart, I thought They never would have done. -I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds With coldness still returning. Alas! the gratitude of men Has oftner left me mourning.
Written in early Spring..
I heard a thousand blended notes,
. To her fair works did nature link
The human soul that through me ran;