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Rh No sweets, no music, rose to welcome her; The birds did seem to dread such solitude: Nor flowers could spring upon that dank cold earth. Fierce o'er the snowy mountains swept the wind, With wild lament; it seem'd the unearthly wail Of unforgiven souls, or as the yell Of evil spirits riding on the gale. They gain'd an opener space; at distance seen, Uprose a lighted tower; and where's the chief Would not throw wide the hospitable gate, And gladly hail the swords of Palestine? Free was the welcome, fairly spread the feast; Proudly the host receiv'd his honour'd guest: But chill the damp upon Orlando’s heart— Was it a dream!—he stood in Ethlin's hall!