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Death with his cold hand, hath robb’d me of every hope,
Hath robb’d me of every hope—my loved one is gone;
Bleak was the moment, that parted our beating hearts—
That parted our beating hearts, and left me alone.
Sweet was the low voice, that wrapt me in fond delight,
That wrapt me in fond delight, as fair visions do;
Soft were the dark eyes, that languish’d in beauty bright,
That languish’d in beauty bright—how fondly and true!
CHORUS.