BY WILLIAM SYDNEY THAYER.
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When the beloved guide, with whom we oft
Have wandered over meadow, hill and dale,
Have had sweet converse, and who bore aloft
Our minds attentive to some pleasing tale,
Whose words of wisdom often could avail
To cheer us on our weariest pilgrimage,
Bending with years, passes beyond the pale
Of earthly life, what crowding thoughts engage