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Rh

Far lovelier lands shall meet thy gaze. Yet seem not half so bright! O'er the dim woodlands’ fading hue, Still gleams yon Gothic pile on high; Gaze on, while yet 'tis thine to view That home of infancy! Heed not the night-dew's chilling power, Heed not the sea-wind's coldest hour, But pause, and linger on the deck, Till of those towers no trace, no speck, Is gleaming o'er the main; For when the mist of morn shall rise, Blending the sea, the shore, the skies, That home, once vanished from thine eyes, Shall bless them ne'er again! There the dark tales and songs of yore, First with strange transport thrilled thy soul, E’en while their fearful, mystic lore, From thy warm cheek the life-bloom stole; There, while thy father's raptured ear,