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Scent on the flower, as if thy hair Had lost its own rich odour there;— All, the green earth, the sunny clime, Were relics of thy lovely time.

Fair Cyprus! dream-like 't was to land Where myrtle groves stretch'd from thy strand, And paid the freshness of the wave With fragrance which they sighing gave. But sunshine seen, but sunshine felt, You reach'd the palace where she dwelt; Cyprus's maiden queen, whose reign Seem'd ancient days restored again, When it was only beauty's smile Claim'd fealty of 's isle. Mid fair dames of her court, a star, The loveliest of the group by far,