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Rh  O lady, of thy voice beware! In yonder rocky citadels A profligate pretender dwells, Who fabricates thy accents there. Yon bellowing crag with trumpet’s voice, Bare as the ramparts of the sky, Hob-goblins in its depths rejoice, Or dogs amid its caldrons cry. Its tones are like the scream of pain Of gander, by the nightmare slain, Or the hoarse wailing of a hound Within a stony vessel bound, Or hag that strives with hollow sound To terrify the country round,— Disastrous voice, perfidious guide, That kept me from my lady’s side!

, woe is me! I long to roam Far as the foam-hued lady’s home; But how, alas! can I command A guide to that far distant land?