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176

ON MY BIRTH-DAY.

I.

I my dear, was born to day,
So all my jolly comrades say;
They bring me music, wreaths, and mirth,
And ask to celebrate my birth:
Little, alas! my comrades know
That I was born to pain and wo;
To thy denial, to thy scorn,
Better I had ne'er been born,
I wish to die ev'n whilst I say,
I, my dear, was born to day.

II.

I, my dear, was born to day,
Shall I salute the rising ray?
Wellspring of all my joy and woe,
Clotilda, thou alone dost know.
Shall the wreath surround my hair?
Or shall the music please my ear?
Shall I my comrades mirth receive,
And bless my birth, and wish to live?
Then let me see great Venus chace
Imperious anger from Thy face;
Then let me hear Thee smiling say,
Thou, my dear, wer't Born to Day.