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That to the listening warrior brought Thoughts that he fain would not have thought. And sudden to his lip there came A dear, yet half forgotten name; Forgotten as all else had been In the sweet eyes of that young queen. Amenaïde had often sung The mournful airs on which he hung. Up sprung the soldier from his rest; His brow upon his hands he prest. Oh, misery for the heart to prove The strife of honour and of love! Pale was Leoni's cheek next day, When forth he led his brave array In triumph through the crowded street, Where thousands their young sovereign meet,