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Where the birds which drink their dew, Wave wings of yet brighter hue, And each river's course is roll'd Over bed of pearl and gold!

Oh! for those lime-scented groves Where the Spanish lover roves, Tuning to the western star, His soft song and light guitar,— Where the dark hair'd girls are dancing, Fairies in the moonlight glancing, With pencill'd brows, and radiant eyes, Like their planet-lighted skies! Or those clear Italian lakes Where the silver cygnet makes Its soft nest of leaf and flower, A white lily for its bower!