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With him," said I, " will take a pleasant charm ;
It cannot be that aught will work him harm."

These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might :—
Again I shake your hand,—friend Charles, good night.
September, 1816.

STANZAS.

IN a drear-nighted December,
Too happy, happy tree,
Thy branches ne'er remember
Their green felicity:

The north cannot undo them,

With a sleety whistle through them;
Nor frozen thawings glue them
From budding at the prime.

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