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IV. Music's sweet and distant sound Comes floating on the air, From the banquet-room it tells The dancers still are there:

V. But she, their loveliest one, Has left the festal scene, To dream on what may be, To muse o'er what has been;

VI. To think on low, soft words, Her ear had drunk that night, While her heart beat echo-like, And her cheek burnt ruby bright.

VII. How beautiful she looks Beneath that moonlit sky, With her lip of living rose, Her blue and drooping eye!

VIII. Spell-like, the festal scene Rises on heart and brain; Not a word, and not a look, But she lives them o'er again.