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thou golde sun; upon our hills,

Our own bohemian hills—above our woods;

O tarry: 'tis alone thine influence fills

With rays of light Bohemia's solitudes;

And as thy mission is of peace and joy,

Chace thou the evil dreams of darkness—pour

Bright greetings—and the shades of grief destroy,

And bless the love which calls thee to watch o'er

And witness its deep faithfulness—Awake

Some splendor in mine eyes, and bear to her,

Beneath whose influence; and for whose sweet sake

I would be gay—O golden monarch! bear

To her all beams of beauty and of bliss,

And let thy smile—cheeks, lips, and eyelids kiss.