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And who considers hours, whose heart is bent On what concerns a lover and a friend? Where is thy daughter?

Within yon flowery thicket, blythe and careless; For tho' she loves, 'tis with sweet, maiden fancy, Which, not impatient, looks in cheering hope To future years.

Ay, 'tis a sheltered passion, A cradled love, by admiration foster'd: A showy, toward nurse for babe so bashful. Thus in the shell athwart whose snowy lining Each changeful tint of the bright rainbow plays, A little pearl is found in secret value Surpassing all the rest.

But sayest thou nothing Of what I wish to hear? What of Cordenius?

By my good war-bow and its barbed shafts! By the best war-horse archer e'er bestrode! I'm still in ignorance; I have not seen him.

Thou hast not seen him! this is very strange.