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To murmur low their history! every word That whispers of them, should be like those heard At moonlight casements, when th' awakened maid Sighs her soft answer to the serenade. She stood beside the altar, like the queen, The bright-eyed queen that she was worshipping. Her hair was bound with roses, which did fling A perfume round, for she that morn had been To gather roses, that were clustering now Amid the shadowy curls upon her brow. One of the loveliest daughters of that land, Divinest Greece! that taught the painter's hand To give eternity to loveliness; One of those dark-eyed maids, to whom belong The glory and the beauty of each song Thy poets breathed, for it was theirs to bless