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No more wilt thou feed from my hand,
Or fed and with fullness opprest;
Half asleep on my shoulder wilt stand,
Then sink in my bosom to rest.

No more, feigning sleep as I'm laid,
Thy whispers of love shall I hear?
No more thy so soft serenade,


Pretty dear-pretty dear—pretty dear.”

'Twas a dream I wou'd fondly suppose―
Cruel death wou'd not seize upon you—
I awoke, but alas! when I rose
I found my sad vision was true.

I awoke ere the moment of death,
And mournfully low did I hear
The call of thy last dying breath;


Pretty dear-pretty dear-pretty dear,"

If haply thy spirit shou'd roam,

Across the wide Indian sea;

Be it happy, more happy at home,
Than erst an oxotic with me.

At home riper fruits it may find
At home more congenial heat;
A mistress so constant and kind,

Oh! where will the wanderer meet?

Adieu, my dear Lory, adieu!

But tell all the birds in your grove, No other will charm me like you, No other like you shall I love.


'Twas at that solemn hour of night When ghosts come forth to view; Perch'd on my chair a winged sprite, Aside my curtain drew.

"What business here, I sternly said,
All in the dead of night."
Unaw'd it pitch'd upon my bed,
And thus began the sprite.

"Dear lady, marvel not that I

"So soon am here again; "So swiftly do we spirits fly "Across the widest main.

Scarce had I bid in dying strain,
"Adieu to thee, before

← I found myself alive again,
“ And on my native shore.

"Pois'd on the wing and on the ground, "In feather'd ranks did stand "My former friends, as soon I found, "To welcome me to land.

"With them I carol thro' the day
"And fly from grove to grove;
"At eve on some sequester'd spray
"I mourn my absent love.

"Oh pretty dear—as wont I cry→→ "A Lory listning near,

"Advances and with tender sigh,

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"Oh pretty dear-I cry again,→→→ "My love he thinks is true;

"Poor bird! he little knows this strain

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"Sweet are the fruits, that here I find,

"And sweet is liberty;

"The cage and fruits I left behind, "How sweeter still with thee!

But see the dawn approaches fast
"I hear our matin bell-

"One more kind kiss must be our last,
"One more our last farewell.

Thrice did my trembling tongue essay
To bid the last adieu !

But thrice the accents dy'd away
And off the spirit flew.


Inscribed on the back-ground of the case in which this beautiful bird is preserved.

"Oh pretty Pol-and pretty dear" Was all this bird could utter clear, And these you think might only be The words of lying vanity.

The relics of her beauty view

And own that all she said was true.


The twentieth year is well nigh past,
Since first our sky was overcast,

Ah would that this might be the last!

My Mary!

Thy spirits have a fainter flow,

I see thee daily weaker grow➡

'Twas my distress that brought thee low,

My Mary!

Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore;
Now rust disus'd, and shine no more,

My Mary!

For though thou gladly would'st fulfil
The same kind office for me still,

Thy sight now seconds not thy will,

My Mary!

But well thou play'd'st the house-wife's part; And all thy threads with magic art,

Have wound themselves about this heart,

My Mary!

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