Page:National Lyrics.pdf/56

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I feel thy tears, I feel thy breath, I meet thy fond look still; Keen is the strife of love and death; Faint and yet fainter grows my bosom's thrill.

Yet swells the tide of rapture strong, Tho' mists o'ershade mine eye; —Sing, Pæan! sing a conqueror's song! For thee, for thee, my spirit's lord, I die!"