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Show OPPORTUNITY. How brigbt'y on tho morn it lies, Purpli monarch in diuise! Hmi him, crown him, if you wait 'Twill fur ever be too lata. Youth, by May's onchantmoot lod, Dreams of rosier days tibead; But only ho who fronts the hour Carres tho spiral path to powur. 1 Maiden with the pretty face, All tho world admires your grace, Form, and sweetness. Bright, V119 ojos, Fut no trust in by and bys. VVbon tho tilvor Bummona calls, Stoutly speak 'tis Fate befalls; One moment turns each golden door, And then it thuts fur evermore, |