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r 49 ]
friends of the dead ; but clofe it not
till I come. My life flieth away like a
dream : why Ihould I flay behind ?
Here fliali I reft with my friends by the
ftream of the founding rock. When
night comes on the hill > when the wind
is upon the heath ; my ghoftfliall ftand
in the wind, and mourn the death of
my friends- The hunter fliall hear
from his booth. He fhall fear, but
love my voice. For fweet fliall my voice
be for my friends ; for plea font were
they both to mc.
G

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