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A broad irregular duskiness. Aloof

From their high calm indifference to sense Snowdon, the triple-headed giant, soars,

Of our light motions. Simple truth severe Clouds rolling half-way down his rugged sides. Best seemeth aged lips; oh, holy famed

And sage, how ill strong Wisdom's voice melts down Slow as he trod amid their dizzy heights,

To the faint chime of Aattery.”—“ Poor of pride! Their silences and dimly mingling sounds,

Feeble of hope! thou seest thyself forlorn, Rushing of torrents, roar of prisond winds;

An hunted wanderer in thy native land. O'er all his wounded soul flow'd strength, and pride, I see thee clad in victory and revenge, And hardihood; again his front soar'd up

Thy glory sailing wide on all the winds, To commerce with the skies, and frank and bold

Beautiful with thy blessings at thy feet His majesty of step his rugged path

Thy own fair Britain, Fate so freely spreads, Imprinted. So in old poetic faith

Her music volume for my sight.”—“Oh, blind, Hyperion from his native Delian bowers,

And ignorant as blind our insect race! 'Mid the rich music of those sisters nine,

The mole would count the sunbeams, the blind worm Walk'd the bright heights of Helicon, and shook

Search the hid jewels in the depths of earth, His forehead's clustering glories wide, and flush'd

And man, dim dreamer, would invade the heavens, The smoothness of his fair immortal face

Self-seated in the Almighty's councils, read With purple Godhead. Whence, ye mountains, whence The secrets of Omniscience, yea, with gaze The spirit that within your secret caves

Familiar scrutinize the Inscrutable. Holds kindred with man's soul? Is 't that your pomp I tell thee, Merlin, that the soul of man Of exaltation, your aërial crowns

Is destiny on earth! God gave us limbs In their heaven-scaling rivalry cast forth

To execute, and intellect to will Bold sympathies of loftiness, and scorn

Or good or evil, and his unseen Spirit Contagious? or in that your purer air,

Our appetites of holiness, else faint Where fresh and virgin from its golden fount, And wavering, doth corroborate: hence man's prides Lies the fine light at morning, or at eve

Man's glories, and man's virtues all are God's. Melts upward and resolves itself from earth,

If yet this heart unwearied may bear on, And with its last clear trembling round ye clings: Nor from its holy purpose faintly swerve, The soul, unwound its coarse material chains,

The Lord be praised, its fate is pride and joy. Basks in its own divinity, and feels

But if, and on the peril! it play false There in the verge and portal of the heavens

Its country's lofty hazard, shall it shift The neighbourhood of brighter worlds unseen?

On wayward destiny its sloth and sin? Where the blue Glasslyn hurries her fleet course Evil is not, where man no evil wills, To wanton on the yellow level sands,

And good is not, where will not man and God." On either side in sheer ascent abrupt The rocks, like barriers that in elder time

“Chief wise as brave, as to our feeble sight Walla the huge cities of the Anakim,

Yon pebble's slight circumference, the Past, Upblacken to the sky, whose tender blue

The Present, and the future of this world With mild relief salutes th'o'erlabour'd sight. Are to the All-seeing vision; oft doth Heaven There on the scanty slippery way, that winds In sign and symbol duskily reveal With the stream's windings, Samor loiters on. The unborn future; oft Fate's chariot wheels But who art thou, that in the Avenger's path

Are harbinger'd by voices that proclaim Standest in dark serenity? what joy

The fashion of their coming; gifted Seers Instinct amid thy thick black locks reveals

Feel on their lips articulate the deeds The full voluptuous quietude within ?

Of later days, and dim oracular sights Oh, Prophet! in thy wanderings wide and far Crowd the weak eyes, till pall'd attention faint Amid the pregnant hours of future time,

To dizziness.”_"Oh. Merlin, time hath been Haply the forn of Samor, disarray'd

When in the guilty cities the Lord's voice Calamity's sad vesture, hath appear'd

Hath spoken by his Prophets, hath made quail In plenitude of glory. Hence thine eye

By apparitions ominous and dire
With recognition glad and bright salutes

Strong empires on their unassailed height.
The Man of Fate. To earth the Prophet old But oh, for us of this devoted isle,
Bow'd down, then look'd he on the waters dark, Drench'd with the vials of Almighty wrath,
Then upward to the mountains. “Stony earth,

To gaze up, and beseech the clouds to rain
Within thy secret bosom feel'st not thou

Bright miracles on this poor speck of earth."
A wonderous presence? dwells not, thou blue stream,
Under thy depth of waves a silent awe?-

"Shame choke thy speech, despondent slanderer Yea, Snowdon, lift thou up in sternest pride

thee Thy cloudy mantled brow; ye know him all, Avenger! this from thee! Away! my lips Ye know the Avenger." Merlin, mock not thou Burn with the fire of heaven, my heart flows o'er Thy fellow-creature of the dust, the child

With gladness and with glory. Peerless Isle, Of sin and sorrow, with o'erlabour'd phrase, How dost thou sit amid thy blue domain Abusing the immortal elements

Of ocean like a sceptred Queen! The bonds

Like flar bave wither'd from thy comely limbs. Heroic vauntings, sumptuous imagings,
Thou, the strong freedom of thy untamed locks Set in its veil of darkness from their sight.
Shaking abroad, adornest God's fair world.

The filmless, the pellucid heaven above
Thou noblest Eden of man's fallen state,

One broad pure sheet of sunlight.—“Gifted Man, Apart and sever'd from the common earth,

(Cried Samor,) wherefore to this desolate Even like a precious jewel, deep and far

Untrodden!"_“Ha! untrodden! know ye not, In the abyss of time thy dawn of pride

Where coarse humanity defiles not, there Still with a fuller and more constant blaze

The snowy-footed Angels lightly skim Grows to its broad meridian, and Time's rolls The taintless soil, the fragrance of their plumes Are silent of thy setting. Oh, how fair

Fans the pure air where chokes no breath of sin The steps of freemen in thy vales of peace; The limpid current ? Desolate! the motes Thy broad towns teem with wealth, thy yellow fields That flicker in the sun are few and rare Laugh in their full fertility; thy bays

To the immortal faces that smile down Whiten and glisten with thy myriad barks.

Exquisite transport on the ravish'd sense. The Angels love thee, and the airs of hearen Here, from their kindred elements, emanate Are gladden'd by thy holy hymns; while Faith The festive creatures of the heavenly fields, Sits on thy altars, like a nestling dove,

Glories, and Mercies, and Beatitudes In unattainted snowiness of plume."

Some dropping on the silent summer dews,

Some trembling on the rainbow's violet verge, Now, by my soul, thou strange and solemn Man, Some rarely charioteering on the wings Mistrust thee more I dare not; be 't a dream

Of the mild winds, in moonlight some. Why shakes Or revelation of immortal truth,

The Man of Vengeance? wherefore of mine hand Of Britain's fame I cannot choose but hear

This passionale wringing?”—“Tell me, truly tell; With a child's transport.”—Then the Prophet shook

The name of Emeric from some mild-lipp'd tone The dark profusion of his swelling hair

Hath it e'er trembled on thine ear? Old Man, With a stern triumph; then his aged eye

Is 't sin to say her presence might adorn Grew restless with delight: his thin white hand

That gentle company ?"_" To souls like thine, Closing around the Baron's arm, lay there

Warrior, Heaven grants sweet intercourse and free Like a hard glove of steel. He led him on,

With its beatified.”_"Ah! now thou rakest
Till now the black and shaggy pass spread out The ashes of a buried grief; gone all,
To a green quiet valley, after named

My gentle visitations broken off,
The Bed of Gelert, that 100-faithful hound

My delicate discoursings silent, ceased!
Slain fondly by his erring Lord : the stream

Oh, I talk idly, Prophet, speak thou on."
Here curi'd more wanton, lightly wafling down
The last thin golden leaves the alders dropt,

“Ay, Warrior, and of mild and soft no more; Like fairy barges skimming the blue waves. Grandeurs there are, to which the gates of heaven That stream o'erpass'd, rightward their silent way Set wide their burnish'd portals: midnight feels Lay to the foot of Snowdon. Pause was none, Cherubic splendours ranging her dun gloom, They front the steep ascent, and upward wind The tempests are ennobled by the state A long, sheer, toilsome path, their footfalls struck Of high seraphic motion. I have seen, t'pon the black bare sullness, audible

I, Merlin, have beheld. It stood in light, As in thick forest the lone woodman's axe.

It spake in sounds for earth's gross winds too pure. Twis strange, yet slack'd not that old reverend Man Between the midnight and the morn 't was here, His opward step, as though the mountain air I lay, I know not if I slept or woke, Were his peculiar element, still his breath

Yet mine eyes saw. Long, long this heart had Respired unlabouring, lively bounded on

yearnd, His limbs, late slow and tremulous. Three long hours 'Mid those rich passings and majestic shows Vow front to front upon that topmost peak,

For shape distinct, and palpable clear sound. Erwydfa, sit they motionless, alone :

It burst at length, yes front to front it stood, As when two vultures on some broken tower, The immortal Presence. I clench'd up the dust That beetleg o'er a dismal battle-field,

In the agony and rapture of my fear, In dark and greedy patience ruminate

And my soul wept with terror and deep joy. Their evening feast; a stillness as of sleep

It stood upon the winds, an Angel plumed, Heaves in their ruffled plumes, their deep bright eyes And maild and crown'd; his plumes cast forth a tinge Half closed in languid rest; so undisturbid,

Like blood on th'air around : his arms, in shape So lofty, sate the Avenger and the Seer.

Etherial panoply complete, in hue
The atmosphere, that palls our restless world, The moonlight on the dark Llanberis lake,
Lay Ciling in its murky folds below:

A bright blue rippling glitter; for the crown,
So in some regal theatre, when droops

Palm leaves of orient light his brow enwreathed, The unfolding curtain, and within it shrouds That bloom'd in fair divinity of wrath, The high disastrous passions, crimes, and woes And beautiful relentlessness austere. Erexhile that fretted on its pomp of scene; Knowledge was in my heart, and on my lips; Tbas Earth, with all its solemn tragedies,

I felt him, who he was." Archangel! hail,

Destroyer! art not thou God's Delegate,

Cloudy, discordant, and tempestuous years, To break the glassy glories of this world?

For the sword reap'd the harvest of the land, The gem-knosp'd diadem, the ivory ball,

And battle was the may-game of her sons. Sceptre and sword, imperial mantle broad,

And lo, a Raven o'er the Eastern sea The Lord of Nations, Thundershaft of war,

Swoop'd desolation on the Isle; her wings Are glorious on the pale submissive earth :

Blasted where'er they waved, the earth wept blood Thou comest, and lo, for throne, for sword, for king, In her foul talons' gripe. But he that rode Bare ashes and thin dust. Thou art, that aye On the White Steed, the Sovereign of the Land The rich-tower'd cities smoulder'st to pale heaps

(Patience, Avenger, patience!), fair was he Of lazy moss-stones, and aye after thee

That Sovereign, as the virgin's spring-lide dream, Hoots Desolation, like a dank-wing'd owl

Holy as new-anointed Christian Priest, Upon the marble palaces of Kings.

Valiant as warrior burnish'd for the fight, Thou wert, when old Assyrian Vineveh

Fond and ecstatic as love-dreaming Bard, Sank to a pool of waters, waste and foul;

Solemn and wise as old Philosopher, Thou, when the Median's brow the massy tiar

Stately as king-born lion in the wood; Let fall, and when the Grecian's brazen throne As he his fine face heavenward turn'd in prayer, Sever'd and split to the four winds; and now The Angels bent down from their throning clouds, Consummatest thy work of wreck and scorn, To wonder at that admirable King, Even on Rome's Cæsars, making the earth sick Sky-wandering voices peal'd in transport outof its own hollowness. Archangel! Hail,

• Alfred” the baffled Raven cower'd aloof, Vicegerent of destruction! Cupbearer,

The isle look'd up to heaven in peace and joy. That pour'st the bitter liquor of Heaven's wrath, A lamentable homage pay I thee,

“ Still stood he there, betwixt me and the sun, And sue thee tell if Britain's days are full,

Th' Archangel; not in sleep, nor senselessness Her lips for thy sad beverage ripe. Thereat Absorb'd, but terrible inaction spread Earth ward his sunny spear its lurid point

Over his innate menace. Oh, I strove, Declined, and lo, a White Horse, through the land Yet dared not hope the dregs of wrath were drain'd Ranging in stately speed; our city gates

The mission of dismay fulfill'd and done; Shrunk open at his coming, our fair fields

Yet had those wings of fatal hue droop'd down Wither'd before him, so his fiery breath

In folded motionlessness, wreathy light Flared broad amazement through the gasping land. Had crept and wound around that dusky spear, Triumph was in the trampling of his feet,

Silvering its perilous darkness. Dropt at once And the strong joy of mockery, for he trod

That tender light away; al once those wings On broken principalities; his mane

Started asunder, and spread wide and red Familiar Conquest, as a rushing wind,

The rain of desolation, thicker rollid Fann'd in loose brilliant streamings.”—“ False-lipp'd The pedestal of clouds whereon he stood, Seer,

As to bear up the effort of his wrath. Thou spakest of gladness, and thy ominous tone Again the Eastern Raven snuff'd our air, Is darkness and dismay.”—“ Hark, Warrior, hark: The frantic White Horse lared his hoofs in blood, That wanton mane was trail'd down to the dust, Till from the Southern Continent sprung forth That fiery trampling falter'd to dull dread,

A Leopard, on the ocean shore he ramp'd. That pale victorious steed Thee, Thee I saw, Woe to the White Horse, to the Raven woe, Visible as thou stand'st, with mastering arm

Woe for the title of the Leopard Lord, Drag down, and on his strong and baMed neck The Conqueror! and a Bell I heard, that sway'd Full trod thy iron-sandald heel. The sight

Along the isle, and froze it into peace Was wine unto my soul, and I langhd out,

With its majestic tyranny of sound. And mock'd the ruinous Seraph in the clouds.

* But he, upon the air, th’ Archangel, he, " Yet stood he in the quiet of whis wrath,

The summons of whose eye from climes remote Angelic Expectation, that awaits

Beckond those grisly ministers of wrath, Calmly till God accomplish God's high will,

Northward he look d, no northern ruin came. Full on his brow. Then stoop'd the spear again, To th' East, there all was still. The South, nor shape And lo, Seven Steeds, like that pale One, bestrode Nor sound. The West, calm stretchd th'unruffled sea. The patient Isle, and they that on them rode Ha! thought I, earth hath now no ruin more. Wore diadem and regal pall; then rose

The race of havoc is extinct for us : To war against those royal riders fierce,

Angel of wreck, awny! thy task is o'er; From a round table, Knights in sunlike arms, Majestic Mischief, from our isle away! Shields bossy with rich impress quaint, and fair He went not; as an earthquake's second shock, Their coursers, as the fire-hoof'd steeds of Morn. With dreary longing watch'd I what might come: To white-arm'd Ladies in a stately court

Moments were years; and lo, the Island's sons Bards hymn’d the deeds of that fine chivalry, Nor Briton they, nor Saxon, nor the stock And their crown'd Captain's lille smote mine ear, or those new-comers, but from each had flow'd “Arthur of Bretagne.'— Years went rolling on, All qualities of honour and renown,

The foul dishonest dregs had fumed away,

Cold winter leads the pleasant summer on, And the rich quintessence, unmix’d, unsoil'd, The night must darken ere the morning dawn; A harmony of energies sublime,

The summer came, the morning dawn'd, I saw Knit in that high-brow'd people. Courtesy, The arch'd heavens open o'er the angelic shape, Death-ecorning valour, Fame's immortal thirst, And upward like a cloud he mingled in And honour inbreathed like the life of life.

To the sky's cloudiness. I cried aloud

• For ever!' the close settling in the heaven “Then rose that strong Archangel, and he smote

Seem'd to reply ·For ever.' Not with him The bosom of the land; at once leap'd up

Pass'd off my vision fair. Another throne That mighty people. Here a Snow-white Rose,

Stood by the venturous margin of that stream: And there a Red, with fatal blossoming,

Then merriment, and loose-harp'd wantonness And deadly fragrance, maddening all the land.

Smoothed the late ruffled air; immodest tones, I heard, I saw-ah, impious sights and sounds!

To which fair forins in dancing motion swam: Two war-cries in one tongue, two banner-rolls

They paused, then dark around that throne it seem'd Woven in one loom, two lances from one forge,

Whereat those holy hymns that scarce had ceased Two children from one womb in conflict met;

To float up in their airy-winged course, 'Gainst brother brother's blood cried out to heaven,

In faintness 'gan to tremble and break off; And he that rent the vizor of his foe

That stream again upgather'd its waked wrath, Look'd through the shatter'd bars, and saw his son.

And foamy menace. When behold, a fleet Ha, Britain! in thine entrails dost thou flesh

Came tilting o'er the ocean waves, and cast Thy ravin! thy baronial castles blaze

A Lady and a Warrior on the shore, With firebrands from their hospitable hearths.

And kingly crowns around their brows august “Mercy,” I cried aloud, “thou Merciless! Out blossom'd; on the throne they took their seat, Destroy no more, Destroyer! Prone I fell,

Soar'd gladness on the wings of those pure hymns, And hid mine aching eyes deep in the dust;

And the majestic stream in sunlight flow
So from my rocking memory to shut out

And full rejoicing murmur, all its waves
Those wars unnatural. Pass'd a sound at length Wasted around the high and steady throne.
As of a Wild Boar hunted 10 his death :
I raised mine head, still there the Archangel stood;

“ Now listen with thy soul, not with thine ears: Another pause, another gleam of hope ;

Briton! beside that stream a Tree sprang out, But in that quiet interval me-seem'd

With ever-mounting height, and amplitude Trumpetings, as of victory from the sea,

Aye-spreading; deep in earth its gnarled roots Flow'd o'er the Isle, and glories beam'd abroad

Struck down, as though to strengthen this frail world: From a triumphant throne, where sate elate

Its crown amid the clouds seem'd soaring up A Virgin : all around her Poets' harps

For calm above earth's lossing and rude stir, Strew'd flowers of amaranth blooming; and methought and its broad branching spread so wide, its shade Was joy and solemn welcoming in heaven

Lay upon distant realms; one golden bright, Of a pure incense, that from all the Isle

Close by the cradle of the infant sun, Soar'd to the unapproached throne of God.

And others in new western worlds remote;

And from that mystic river, Freedom, flow'd
“ Then saw I through the Isle a River broad A moisture like the sap of life, that fed
And full, and they that drank thereof look'd up And fertilized the spacious Tree; the gales
Like children dropt forth from a nobler world, Of ocean with a gorgeous freshness flush'd
So powerful that proud water work'd within, The beauty of its foliage. Blossoms rare
Freshening the body and the soul: and each Were on it; holy deeds, that in the airs
Beauty array'd and a frank simple strength.

Of heaven delicious smelt, and fruits on earth
The river's name was Freedom: her fair tide Shower'd from it, making its sad visage smile,
So pleasant thralld mine eye, I saw not rise

For life and hope and bliss was in their taste. TH' Archangel's spear: th'earth's reeling woke me Amid the state of boughs twin Eagles hung then,

Their eyries, Vietory and Renown, and swung For lo, upon a throne, a gallant Prince,

In rapturous sport with the tumultuous winds, That with misguided sceptre strove to check But birds obscene, Dishonour, Shame, Dismay, That powerful stream: whereat the rebel tide Scared by the light of the bright leaves, aloof Swell'd up with indignation, and aloof

Far wheel'd their sullen fight, nor dared to stoop. Stood gathering its high-cresting waves; down came I saw the nations graft their wasted trunks The deluge, that fair throne, and all its strong From those broad boughs of beauty and of strength, Nobility of pillars, with a crash

And dip their draind urns in that sacred stream. Came to the earth, while they that drank rush'd out But in the deep peculiar shade there stood Inebriale with excess of that fierce stream,

A Throne, an Altar, and a Senate-house. And cast a bloody sacrifice, that head

Upon the throne a King sate, triple-crown'd Endiadem'd with royalty, to glut

As by three kingdoms; voices eloquent The tide implacable. 'T is sad to hear,

In harmony of discord fulmined forth Ay, Samor, what was it to see! Brave Chief,

From that wise Senale: in swift intercourse

To and fro from heaven's crystal battlements The tempest from the mountain side tore down
To that pure altar Angels stoop'd their flight. The pine, like a scathed trophy casting it
And through the sunny boughs Philosophers To moulder in the vale, but Samor's brow
Held commerce with the skies, and drew from thence Fronted the rude sky; the free torrent felt
The stars to suffer their sage scrutiny;

The ice its rushing turbulence o'ergrow,
And Poets sent up through the bowery vault Translucent in its cold captivity
Such lavish harmonies, the charm'd air seem'd It hung, bui Samor burst the invading frost
Forgetful of its twinkling motion dim.

From the untamed waters of his soul, and flow'd

Fetterless on his deep unfathom'd course. “Oh, admirable Tree! thou shalt not fall By foreign axe, or slow decay within!

And thou, wild Deva, how hast thou foregone The tempests strengthen thee, the summer airs Thy summer music, and thy sunny play Corrupt not, but adorn. Until that tide,

Of eddies whitening 'mid thy channel stones; Freedom, the Inexhaustible, exhaust,

Bard-beloved river, on whose green-fringed brink Lives the coeval Immortality."

The fine imagining Grecian sure had seign'd

'Twixt thy smooth Naiads and the Sylvans rude The Prophet ceased : still Samor on his face, Of thy grey woods stolen amorous intercourse; That in solemnity of firm appeal

With such a slow reluctance thou delayst
Look'd heavenward, with a passionate belief Under the dipping branches, that flap up
Gazed, and a glad abandonment. “Ha, Seer, With every shifting motion of the wind
But now when thou began'st 't was noon of day, Thy limpid moisture, and with serpent coil
And now deep nighi. Yea, Merlin, and by night Dost seem as thou wouldst mingle with thyself
The Tamer of the White Steed must go forge To wander o'er again the same loved course.
His iron curb." Forth like a cataract

Now lies thy ice-bound bosom mute and fiat
He burst, and bounded down the mountain side. As marble pavement, thy o'ershadowing woods
“Yet once again, tumultuous world, I plunge One bare, brown leaflessness, that fainily drop
Amid thy mad abyss; thou proud and fierce, At intervals the heavy icicles,
I come to break and tame thee! see ye not,

Like tears upon a monumental stone.
Wise Hengist! strong Caswallon! how the sand But though the merry waters and brisk leaves
Is under your high towering thrones, the worm Are silent, with their close-couch'd birds of song,
Is in your showy palms."—And then a pause Even in this blank dead season music loves
Of tumult and proud trembling in his soul,

Thy banks, and sounds harmonious must be heard And, “ False it was not, but a gleam vouchsafed Even o'er thy frozen waters. "T was a hymn From the eternal orb of truth, the sense

From a low chapel by the river side, That inbred and ingraind with my soul's life, Came struggling through the thick and hazy air, Hath made of Britain to this leaping heart

And made a gushing as of tears flow o'er A sound not merely of deep love, but pride

The Wanderer's soul; the form winds could not bow Intense, and inborn majesty. I feel,

Nor crazing tempests, those soft sounds amate; And from my earliest consciousness have felt, Those dews of music melt into the frame That in the wide hereafter, where old Fate

Of adamant, proof against the parching frost. Broods o'er the unravelling web of human things, Woven by the Almighty, spreads thy tissue broad Under the porch he glided in, and knelt In light, among the dark and mazy threads ; Unnoticed in the throng: whose motion swag d Vicissitude or mutability

The beasts of ravin, he before his God Quench not its desolate lustre, on it winds

Wore nought distinctive, save of those bruised reeds Unbroken, unattainted, unobscured."

Was he the sorest bruised, and deepest seemd

The full devotion settling round his heart, So pass'd he: who had seen, him then had deem'd, More musical than the music on that suul, By the proud steed-like tossing of his crest,

So long inured to things tumultuous, sights His motion like the uncheck'd August sun

Rugged and strange, and hurrying and distract, Travelling the cloudless vacancy of air,

Came the sensation of a face beloved. A monarch for his summer pastime gone

The calm of that old reverend brow, the glow Into the shadv grove, with courtier train,

Of its thin silver locks, was like a flash And plured steed, and laden sumpter mule, Of sunlight in the pauses of a storm. Cool canopy, and velvet carpeting.

Now hath the white-stoled Bishop lifted up But he beneath the sleety winter sky,

His arms, his parting benison descends
Even his hard arms bit into hy the keen

Like summer rain upon his flock. Whose ear,
And searching airs, houseless, hy hazard found Oh, holy Germain, felt thy gentle tones
His coarse irregular fare, his drink, the ice

As Samor's? ah, when last thy saintly brow
Toilsomely broken from the stiff black pool.

For him look'd heavenward, and less tremulous then T'he furr'd wolf in the mossy oaken trunk

Thy voice on him breathed blessing, 't was in times Lapp'd himself from the beating snow, but on Far brighter, at that jocund bridal hour Went Samor with unshivering naked foot;

When Emeric, rosy between shame and joy,

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