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in a smile. The songs would die in his heart as
flowers die in the autumn soil. He must fade and
wither like a frost-bitten rose, like a parched lily.
Nevermore would the cavaliers see poor old Julius.
Dark forebodings crossed his mind as shadows of
windswept clouds pass över newly tilled fields. He
was going home to die.
Blooming with health and well-being, he stood
before them. Never again would they behold him
thus; never again would they ask him when he had
last seen his feet or wish they had his cheeks for
skittles. Liver and lungs had already become affected
by mortal ills that were gnawing and consuming
him; he had long felt that his days were numbered.
If only the cavaliers would be faithful to the
memory of the dead comrade! Oh, may they never
forget him!
Duty called him. In the old home his mother
sat waiting for her son. For seventeen long years
she had awaited his return, and now she had sent
him a summoning letter. Though knowing it would
be the death of him, he would go home like a
dutiful son.
Oh, beloved cavaliers’ wing! Oh, heavenly feasts
and glorious adventures! Oh, fair shore-meads and
proud waterfalls! Oh, smooth white dance-floors!
Oh, violins and horns!—life of happiness and
pleasure!—to part with all that was to die!
Squire Julius stepped into the kitchen to bid
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