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Nay, dearest! ’t is too much, — this heart 
Must break, when thou art gone; 
It must not be — we may not part — 
I could not live alone! 
Venus’s Car. — ‘ Fly ! and I'll follow thee.' 
Affection still follows the object of its regard, through every 
changing scene, that reality or imagination can present. 
THE TRUE BALLAD OF THE WANDERER. 
A maiden in a Southern bower, 
Of fragrant vines, and citron trees, 
To charm the pensive twilight hour, 
Flung wild her thoughts upon the breeze; 
