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52 And left the tenderness of tears, A soft oblivion of all fears, A sweet sleep: so we travelled on Till we came to the home of Lionel, Among the mountains wild and lone, Beside the hoary western sea, Which near the verge of the echoing shore The massy forest shadowed o'er.

The ancient steward, with hair all hoar, As we alighted, wept to see His master changed so fearfully; And the old man's sobs did waken me From my dream of unremaining gladness; The truth flashed o'er me like quick madness When I looked, and saw that there was death On Lionel: yet day by day He lived, till fear grew hope and faith, And in my soul I dared to say, Nothing so bright can pass away: Death is dark, and foul, and dull, But he is—O how beautiful!