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long apart, a bright but severed band, The mighty minstrels of the Rhine's fair land, Majestic strains, but not for us, had sung,— Moulding to melody a stranger tongue. Brave hearts leaped proudly to their words of power, As a true sword bounds forth in battle's hour; Fair eyes rained homage o'er the impassioned lays, In loving tears, more eloquent than praise; While we, far distant, knew not, dreamed not aught Of the high marvels by that magic wrought.