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In joy had she begun the ambitious song, With rapid interchange of sink and swell; And sometimes high the note was raised, and long Produced, with shake and effort sensible, As if the voice exulted there to dwell; But when she could no more that pitch sustain, So thrillingly attuned the cadence fell, That with the music of its dying strain She moved herself to tears of pleasurable pain.

It may be deem'd some dim presage possess'd The virgin's soul; that some mysterious sense Of change to come, upon her mind impress'd, Had then call'd forth, ere she departed thence, A requiem to their days of innocence. For what thou losest in thy native shade There is one change alone that may compense, O Mooma, innocent and simple maid, Only one change, and it will not be long delay'd!