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We look'd for the hunter, whose bride's lament On the wind of the forest at eve is sent: We look'd for the first-born, whose mother's cry Sounds wild and shrill through the midnight sky! —Where are they?—thou 'rt seeking some distant coast— Oh, ask of them, stranger!—send back the lost! Tell them we mourn by the dark blue streams, Tell them our lives but of them are dreams! Tell, how we sat in the gloom to pine, And to watch for a step—but the step was thine!