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Through the bright battle-clime, Where laurel boughs make dim the Grecian streams, And reeds are whispering of heroic themes, By temples of old time:

Through the north's ancient halls, Where banners thrill'd of yore, where harp strings rung, But grass waves now o'er those that fought and sung— Hearth-light hath left their walls!

Through forests old and dim, Where o'er the leaves dread magic seems to brood, And sometimes on the haunted solitude Rises the pilgrim's hymn:

Or where some fountain lies, With lotus-cups through orient spice-woods gleaming! There have ye been, ye wanderers! idly dreaming Of man's lost paradise!