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The dim blush of the twilight hours, The fragrance of the bee-kissed flowers;— But, more than all, sweet songs will be Thrice sacred unto Love and me. ! be this kiss a spell! My first!—my last! !—!

There is a lone and stately hall,— Its master dwells apart from all. A wanderer through Italia's land, One night a refuge there I found. The lightning flash rolled o'er the sky, The torrent rain was sweeping round:— These won me entrance. He was young, The castle's lord, but pale like age;