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KATHLEEN O'MOORE.

She hung on my bosom, and vowed to be true,
As I kissed off a tear-drop, and murmured adieu;
Then, slow and sad-hearted,
From Kathleen I parted,
From Kathleen O'Moore.
I tore myself from her, and left her in tears,
With a pang at my heart yet remembered for years,
Though hope was repeating
A promise of meeting
With Kathleen O'Moore.
'Twas eve, and the moon brightly smiled on the spot,
As I lingered, to gaze yet again on the cot
That held the dear treasure
I loved without measure,
My Kathleen O'Moore.

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And hope fondly whispered, with flattering tone,
That I shortly might call the dear treasure my own;
But hope has deceived me,
For fate has bereaved me
Of Kathleen O'Moore.
A richer swain wooed, and she smiled on his plea,
And she gave him the hand she had plighted to me,
And left me to languish,
With heart-rending anguish,
For Kathleen O'Moore.