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(58) Page 52 - Spinning o't
53
Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear.
The maid that I adore !
A boding voice is in my ear^
We part to meet no more !
But the last throb that leaves my heart,
While death stands victor by.
That throb, Eliza, is thy part,
And thiae that latest sigh.
The Spinning o't.
Now, San - dy, the win - ter's caald
blasts are a-wa, And simmerwe'veseen the be-
i^Elrj^^fi^E^^g^rj
ginning o't; I'velang, lang been wearied o'

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