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GOOD-NIGHT.

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

THE forests and hills grow sombre

On the rim of the sunset bright :

A sweet bird calls from the branches,

"Shall I bid thy love 'Good-night'?"

Ah, birdie, how dull thy heart is!

Dream'st not of her heavenward flight?

But soar to her starry dwelling,

There give her my last "Good-night"!

C. F. L.

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