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ANACREONTIC.

I am drenched with chilly raining."

Moved with pity at his plaining

For his melancholy plight.

Up I rose, with candle lighted,

Oped the door, and there, benighted,

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Saw I Love, a little child,

In his hand a long-bow bearing,

Wings and quiver lightly wearing;

At his woeful look I smiled.

By the hearth my guest I seated,

With my hands his cold hands heated,

Wrung the dampness from his hair.

When his chill had all departed,

"Come," he said, as up he started

With expression debonair,

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