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But broke on his trance, and the while Play'd o'er her lip a sigh and a smile;— "Now turn thee from that evening sky, And the dreaming thoughts that are passing by, And give me those buds, thou hast pluck'd away The leaves of the rose round which they lay; Yet still the boon thrice fair will be, And give them for my tidings to me. A herald waits in the court to claim Aid in the Lady of Clarin's name; And well you know the fair Will have her utmost prayer fulfill'd. Go to the hall at once, and ask That thine may be the glorious task To spread the banner to the day And lead the vassals to the fray."—