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Rh Sadly, oh ! to thy winter wave weeping,
 * Fate bids me languish long ages away;

Yet still in her darkness doth lie sleeping,
 * Still doth the pure light its dawning delay!

When will that day-star, mildly springing,
 * Warm our isle with peace and love?

When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
 * Call my spirit to the fields above?