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on the death of john &039;leod, esq,

brother to a young dy, a particur friend of the author&039;s

sad thy tale, thou idle pa,

and rueful thy ars:

death tears the brother of her love

fro isabel&039;s ars

sweetly deckt with pearly dew

the orng rose ay blow;

but ld suessive noontide bsts

ay y its beauties low

fair on isabel&039;s orn

the sun propitio sil&039;d;

but, long ere noon, sueedg clouds

sueedg hopes beguil&039;d

fate oft tears the bo chords

that nature fest strung;

isabel&039;s heart was for&039;d,

and that heart was wrung

dread onipotence alone

can heal the wound he gave—

can pot the briful grief-worn eyes

to scenes beyond the grave

virtue&039;s bloss there shall blow,

and fear no witherg bst;

there isabel&039;s spotless worth

shall happy be at st

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