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"Our, she is far away Amid the young, the fair, the gay. At Thoulouse, now the bright resort Of beauty and the Minstrel Court; For this time it is hers to set The victor's brow with violet. Her father,—but you're worn and pale,— Come, the wine cup will aid my tale." The greeting of the elder knight, The cheerful board, the vintage bright, Not all could chase from soul, The cloud that o'er its gladness stole; And soon, pretending toil, he sought A solitude for lonely thought.— 'Tis strange how much of vanity Almost unconciously will be