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16  Friend of the sea—knight of the spray— Oh, did’st thou know, for this delay, What penalty the bard must pay, Thou would’st not raise thy gloomy face Between him and the trysting-place! What though for Indeg’s charms sublime, My limbs thy dreadful heights must climb;— Though death were in thy eddies stern;— Death and thy hate I’ll rather spurn, Than back from Morvyth’s shore return!

glorious morn, beneath the grove, To Morvyth many a lay I wove:— “Maid of my heart, O twine,” I said, “One rural garland for my head; One verdant manacle, to be This hour of rapture’s memory!” “Dear bard, ’twere cruelty to tear Yon lonely birch’s glossy hair— Yon anchorite chain’d the cliff along— I’ll pay with nobler gift thy song.”