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241

THE BROKEN HEART.

Mark yon blighted flower,
Yonder wither'd tree;
Mark yon mouldering tower,
Yonder wreck at sea:
What the picture these impart?
Pity sighs,
And sadly cries,
“'Tis, alas! the broken heart.”
If the basis moulder,
Can the dome endure?
Props but vainly shoulder;
Razing is the cure.
Death the emblem will impart:
Pity sighs,
And “Death,” she cries,
“Only heals the broken heart.”