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FLORAL POESY. 




While sadly we gazed on the river, 
Which rolled on in freedom below, 
He demanded the song ; but, oh, never 
That triumph the stranger shall know ! 
May this right hand be withered forever 
Hre it string our high harp for the foe ! 







On the willows that harp is suspended, 
O Salem! Its sound should be free : 
And the hour when thy glories were ended 
But left me that token of thee ; 
And ne’er shall its soft note be blended 
With the voice of the spoiler by me. 












WEARING THE WILLOW. 
PERCY’S RELIQUES. 
Willy—How now, shepherde, what meanes that ? 
Why that willowe in thy hat ? 
Why thy scarffes of red and yellowe 
Turned to branches of green willowe ? 
Cuddy—They are changed, and so am I; 
Sorrowes live, but pleasures die : 
Phillis hath forsaken mee, 
Which makes me weare the willowe-tree. 
Willy—Shepherde, be advised by mee, 
Cast off grief and willowe-tree ; 
For thy grief brings her content : 
She is pleased if thou lament. 


