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A fearless journeyer o'er the mountain snow Wert thou, Louise! the sun's decaying light, Oft, with its latest melancholy glow, Redden'd thy steep wild way: the starry night Oft met thee, crossing some lone eagle's height, Piercing some dark ravine: and many a dell Knew, through its ancient rock-recesses well, Thy gentle presence, which hath made them bright Oft in mid-storms; oh! not with beauty's eye, Nor the proud glance of genius keenly burning; No! pilgrim of unwearying charity! Thy spell was love—the mountain deserts turning To blessed realms, where stream and rock rejoice, When the glad human soul lifts a thanksgiving voice!