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Rh All night to rope and spar
 * They clung with strength untired,

Till the dark clouds fled before the sun,
 * And the fierce storm expired.

At noon the song of bridal bells
 * O’er hill and valley ran;

At eve he called the maiden his,
 * “Before the holy man.”

They dwelt beside the waters
 * That bathe yon fallen pine,

And round them grew their sons and daughters,
 * Like wild-grapes on the vine.

And years and years flew o’er them,
 * Like birds with beauty on their wings,

And theirs were happy sleigh-ride winters,
 * And long and lovely springs—

Such joys as thrilled the lips that kissed
 * The wave, rock-cooled, from Horeb’s fountains,

And sorrows, fleeting as the mist
 * Of morning, spread upon the mountains,

Till, in a good old age,
 * Their life-breath passed away;

Their name is on the churchyard page—
 * Their story in my lay.