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Death of Her Son
by Robert Burns
(1759-1796)
Fate gave the word, the arrow sped,
And pierc'd my darling's heart;
And with him all the joys are fled
Life can to me impart.
By cruel hands the sapling drops,
In dust dishonour'd laid:
So fell the pride of all my hopes,
My age's future shade.
The mother-linnet
in the brake
Bewails her ravish'd
young;
So I, for
my lost darling's sake,
Lament the live
day long.
Death, oft
I've fear'd thy fatal blow,
Now, fond, I bare
my breast,
Oh, do thou
kindly lay me low
With him I love,
at rest!
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