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Rh There ever is a form, a face
 * Of maiden beauty in my dreams,

Speeding before me, like the race
 * To ocean of the mountain-streams—

With dancing hair, and laughing eyes, That seem to mock me as it flies.

My sword—it slumbers in its sheath;
 * My hopes—their starry light is gone;

My heart—the fabled clock of death
 * Beats with the same low, lingering tone:

And this, the land of Magdalen,
 * Seems now the only spot on earth

Where skies are blue and flowers are green;
 * And here I build my household hearth,

And breathe my song of joy, and twine A lovely being’s name with mine.

In vain! in vain! the sail is spread;
 * To sea! to sea! my task is there;

But when among the unmourned dead
 * They lay me, and the ocean air

Brings tidings of my day of doom,
 * Mayst thou be then, as now thou art,

The load-star of a happy home;
 * In smile and voice, in eye and heart

The same as thou hast ever been, The loved, the lovely Magdalen.