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OTHECA

C. WHITTINGHAM, CHISWICK,

DEDICATION.

Accept, dear Friend, this little wreath of flowers,
If flowers they be, plucked in a southern clime;
And though they be not in their vernal prime,
Yet, like crushed roses, they retain the powers
Of living fragrance. As soft summer showers
Refresh the green earth, are renewed in rhyme-
What else had faded with the touch of Time-
The cloud and sunshine of Life's pleasant hours,
Which all must feel :-Whether in elbow chair
We sit, and ruminate on things gone by,
And in the future airy structures rear;
Or,“ restless as the swallow in the sky,”
We wander o'er the world ;—the Good and Fair
Are robed in clouds of sorrow till we die.

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