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And vain too oft her glittering plumes, 
As false the wreath that round her blooms! 
Forgive me ! but while others crowd 
Around thee with their plaudits loud, 
I still a silent part must bear, 
Nor tell my hopes, nor breathe one fear 
To chill thy sanguine spirit, — while 
All others greet thee with a smile; 
But oh, they will not feel like me, 
That pride, that interest deep, in thee, 
Which chains the tongue, and dyes the cheek; 
When thy loved praises others speak, 
They will not dread like me to find, 
That place by thee to Fame assigned, 
Which I — but no my prayer shall be 
Ever as now —Remember me! 
