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Yet once the wave was darken'd, and a stain Lay deep, and heavy drops—but not of rain— On the dim violets by its marble bed, And the pale shining water-lily's head.

Sad is that legend's truth.—A fair girl met One whom she lov'd, by this lone temple's spring, Just as the sun behind the pine-grove set, And eve's low voice in whispers woke, to bring All wanderers home. They stood, that gentle pair, With the blue heaven of Italy above, And citron-odours dying on the air, And light leaves trembling round, and early love Deep in each breast.—What reck'd their souls of strife Between their fathers? Unto them young life Spread out the treasures of its vernal years; And if they wept, they wept far other tears