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Page 232 - With weeping flowers, or votive cypress wreath, The lone couch of his everlasting sleep ; Gentle, and brave, and generous, no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh : He lived, he died, he sung, in solitude.
Page 233 - ... brave, and generous, — no lorn bard Breathed o'er his dark fate one melodious sigh : He lived, he died, he sang, in solitude. Strangers have wept to hear his passionate notes, And virgins, as unknown he past, have pined And wasted for fond love of his wild eyes. The fire of those orbs has ceased to burn, And silence, too enamour'd of that voice, Locks its mute music in her rugged cell.