| Oh, Mary was a maiden
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| When the birds began to sing
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| She was sweeter than the blooming rose
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| So early in the spring
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| Her thoughts were gay and happy
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| And the morning gay and fine
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| For her lover was a river boy
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| From the river in the pines
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| Now Charlie, he got married
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| To his Mary in the spring
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| When the trees were budding early
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| And the birds began to sing
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| But early in the autumn
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| When the fruit is in the wine
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| I’ll return to you, my darling
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| From the river in the pines
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| It was early in the morning
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| In Wisconsin dreary clime
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| When he ruled the fatal rocket
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| For that last and feudal time
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| They found his body lying
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| On the Rocky shore below
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| Where the silent water ripples
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| And the whispering cedars blow
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| Now every raft or lumber
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| That’s come down, the chip away
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| There’s a lonely grave that’s
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| visited by drivers on their way
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| They plant the wild flowers upon it In the morning fair and fine
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| 'Tis the grave of two young lovers
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| From the river in the pines |