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to the bard who, far astray, Moans o’er his errors with dismay! Dark is the night upon the shore— All dark upon the mountain moor— All—all is darkness far and near— (Oh, madness, thou hast brought me here!) Dark is the treacherous earth to-night, And dark the young moon’s orb of light! Oh that the maid of glorious hue, The gloom of this black midnight knew; And that the bard who sings her praise, In the keen blasts of darkness strays! Oh, luckless hour! Oh, wayward thought! That to this pass his footsteps brought, And far from home, on hostile ground, Him and his dappled steed have bound; And worst of all, that such a fate, Him journeying homeward should await, With lady’s tenderness elate! It was a grievous fate, indeed, That plunged the poet and his steed