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A BtETH-DAY BALLAD. 
I am shedding life’s leaves fast, Genie, 
Thou art in blossom sweet; 
But think of the grave betimes, Genie, 
Where young and old oft meet. 
THE FURZE, 
*Mid scatter’d foliage, pale and sere, 
Thy kind flowret cheers the gloom; 
And oilers to the waning year 
The tribute of its golden bloom. 
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Beneath November’s clouded sky, 
In chill December’s stormy hours, 
Thy blossom meets the traveller’s eye, 
Gay as the buds of summer bowers. 
Flower of the dark and wintry day ! 
Emblem of friendship ! thee I hail! 
Blooming when others fade away, 
And brightest when their hues grow pale. 
* 
