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The beautiful is vanish'd, and returns not. 's Wallenstein.

rode forth from his childhood's home, Through the crowded paths of the world to roam, And the green leaves whisper'd, as he pass'd, "Wherefore, thou dreamer, away so fast?

"Knew'st thou with what thou art parting here, Long wouldst thou linger in doubt and fear; Thy heart's light laughter, thy sunny hours, Thou hast left in our shades with the spring's wild flowers.