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THE YOUNG MINSTREL'S PARTING SONG.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


109

THE YOUNG MINSTREL'S PARTING SONG.

While the brightest joys the fleetest,
In our portion here, we find,
'T is the rose of life the sweetest,
That will leave no thorn behind!
For, our memory oft perfuming,
Like a spirit 't will be near;
When our soul may see it blooming,
Though our eye must drop the tear.
Since, in time, for every meeting
There 's a parting to succeed,—
An adieu for every greeting
On our journey here,—decreed,
Let 's divide the wreath of roses,
And preserve their living hue,
Till another growth discloses
Budding gems, and verdure new.
From the light of kindly faces
When our own must turn away,
On our heart their looks it traces,—
All Daguerreotyped are they!
And if a cloud of parting
Cast a shade upon our flowers,
From behind it Hope is darting
Sunny beams to coming hours.

110

Now, let 's each, a rose possessing,
Bind it on our breast, to wear
As an earnest of the blessing
Which we hope again to share.
Hark! as Music, fast retreating,
Sinks to slumber in her cell,
From its sacred vault repeating,
Echo gives her soft farewell!