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 I was wild with my great distress, My lone, my utter hopelessness! I would sit hours by the side Of some clear rill, and mark it glide, Bearing my tears along, till night Came with dark hours; and soft starlight Watch o'er its shadowy beauty keeping, Till I grew calm:—then I would take The lute, which had all day been sleeping Upon a cypress tree, and wake The echoes of the midnight air With words that love wrung from despair.

 SONG.

Farewell!—we shall not meet again! As we are parting now, 