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hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'Tis long since thou and I have met; And yet methinks it were unkind Those moments to forget. Come sit by me. I see thee stand By this lone lake, in this far land, Thy loose hair in the light wind flying, Thy sweet voice to each tone of even United, and thine eyes replying To the hues of yon fair heaven. Come, gentle friend: wilt sit by me? And be as thou wert wont to be Ere we were disunited? None doth behold us now: the power That led us forth at this lone hour Will be but ill requited If thou depart in scorn: oh! come, And talk of our abandoned home. Remember, this is Italy, And we are exiles. Talk with me Of that our land, whose wilds and floods,