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While foster'd on its rising stem, The bud became a purple gem.

But soon their summer splendour pass*d,

They faded in the wind, Yet were these Roses to the last,

The loveliest of their kind. Whose crimson leaves, in falling round, Adorn'd and sanctified the ground.

When thus were all their honours shorn,

The bud unfolding rose. And blush'd and brighten'd, as the morn

From dawn to sunrise glows. Till o'er each parent's drooping head, The daughter's crowning glory spread.

My Friends ! in youth's romantic prime, The golden age of man,

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