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They pass'd and only left behind A lingering fragrance on the wind, And on the lake, their haunted home, One long white wreath of silver foam. Heard I in each surrounding vale What was that mortal maiden's tale: Last of her race, a lonely flower, She dwelt within their ruin'd tower. Orphan without one link to bind Nature's affection to her kind; She grew up a neglected child, As pure, as beautiful, as wild As the field flowers which were for years Her only comrades and compeers. Time pass'd, and she, to woman grown, Still, like a wood bird, dwelt alone.