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The Orphan Girl

Oh! Lady buy these budding flowers, 
For I am sad, and wet and weary; 
I gathered them e'er break of day,
When I was lonely, still and dreary:
And long I've sought to sell them here, 
To purchase clothes, and food and dwelling,
For valour's wretched ophan girls-
Poor me and my young Sister Ellen.

Ah! Those who tread life's thornless way; 
In fortune's golden sunshine basking, 
May deem my wants require no aid, 
Because my lips are mute unasking:
They have no heart for woes like mine, 
Each word, each look, is cold-repelling, 
Yet once a croud of flatterers fawned, 
And fortune smiled on me and Ellen.

Oh! Buy my flowers they're fair and fresh, 
As mine and morning tears could keep them
Tomorrow's sun shall see them dead, 
And I shall scearcely live to weep them!
Yet this sweet bud, if nursed with care, 
Soon into fulness would be swelling, 
And nurtured by some generous hand, 
So might my little sister Ellen!
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