
























































































FLORA’S ALBUM. 
Rosemary. 
“ There ’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance ; 
Pray you, love, remember.” — SHAKSPEARE. 
REMEMBRANCE. 
How proud is the prize which thy virtues have won, 
When their memory alone is so precious to me, 
That this world cannot give what my soul would 
not shun, 
If it tore from my breast the remembrance of thee! 
BERNARD BARTON. 
I remember, I remember 
How my childhood fleeted by ; 
The mirth of its December, 
And the warmth of its July: 
On my brow, love, on my brow, love, | 
There are no signs of care ; 
But my pleasures are not now, love, 
What childhood’s pleasures were. 
Remember thee! yes, while there ’s life in this heart, 
It shall never forget thee, all lorn as thou art ; 
More dear in thy sorrow, thy gloom, and thy showers, 
Than the rest of the world in their sunniest hours, 
THOMAS Moors. 
Cae eer 


















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