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the moon o'er the mountain-branches rises;

With rays as rainbows brilliant, lo! it seems

As if thy smile upon its pale face beams

With more than lunar light: for love disguises

All objects, and in passionate fondness I

Pour'd out my heart, and wildly held dicourse

With that supernal queen, until the hoarse

Laugh of the mountains shook the starry sky.

Then to night's spectre-spirits did I cry

Impatient—and they tarried in their course,

And bid the gentle stars of heaven reply:

"We have sent forth a sister from on high,

Clad all in love and light and beauty—she,

Slawa! was sent to minister to thee."