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I love his dark hounds, and I love His falcon's sweeping flight; I love to see his manly cheek With mountain-colours bright.

I've waited patiently, but now Would that the chase were o'er; Well may he love the hunter's toil, But he should love me more.

Why stays he thus?—he would be here If his love equalled mine; Methinks had I one fond caged-dove I would not let it pine.