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BY MISS CAROLINE E. SUTTON.
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When the young bird goes from her early home,
Though the swift-winged moments in happiness fly,
Though the bridegroom is near with a gentle tone
And a truthful love in his deep dark eye—
Though the future is strewn with the roses of hope,
And peopled with phantoms too brilliant to last—
She turns with a tear to the friends of her youth,