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Borne by music on their way, Every chord a living ray, Sinking on a song-like breeze, The lyre of the Pleiades, With its seven fair sisters bent O'er their starry instrument; Each a star upon her brow, Somewhat dim in daylight's glow, That clasp'd the flashing coronet On their midnight tresses set. —All were young, all very fair— But one—oh! gazed but there. Each other lip wore sterner mould,— Fair, but so proud,—bright, but so cold; And clear pale cheek, and radiant eye, Wore neither blush, nor smile, nor sigh, Those sweet signs of humanity.