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CELADON AND CHLOE.

1700.

WHEN hoary winter whitened all the plains,

There sallied forth in search of merriment

Young Celadon, the sprightliest of the swains

That Holworthy's time-honored walls frequent.

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And while along the icy path he strayed

His long and slippery course, he chanced to meet

The beauteous Chloe, fairest, loveliest maid

That haunts the classic shades of Garden Street.

His Derby hat he lifts with airy grace,

The wintry winds play through his ebon hair,

The glassy ice his erring foot betrays,

Supine he lies before the matchless fair.

From Chloe's lips the winged laughter flies

As to the winds his erring heels are tossed.

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