by Robert Burns
ONCE fondly lov'd, and still remember'd dear,
Sweet early object of my youthful vows,
Accept this mark of friendship, warm, sincere,
Friendship!'tis all cold duty now allows.
And when you read the simple artless rhymes,
One friendly sigh for him-he asks no more,
Who, distant, burns in flaming torrid climes,
Or haply lies beneath th' Atlantic roar
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