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left our Hero in a trance,

Beneath the alders, near the river;

The Ass is by the river side,

And, where the feeble breezes glide,

Upon the stream the moon-beams quiver.

A happy respite!—but he wakes;—

And feels the glimmering of the moon—

And to stretch forth his hands is trying;—

Sure, when he knows where he is lying,

He'll sink into a second swoon.