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And it was fairy hand Met in the saraband, And it was ear that heard Many a low and love-tuned word.— And life seem'd as a sunny stream, And hope awaked as from a dream; But what has minstrel left to tell When love has not an obstacle? My lute is hush'd, and mute its chords, The heart and happiness have no words!

tale is told, the glad sunshine Fell over its commencing line,— It was a morn in June, the sun Was blessing all it shone upon, The sky was clear as not a cloud Were ever on its face allow'd;