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Mark'd his high step, his warlike mien,— "And such my father would have been!"

A few words of years past away, A few words of the coming day, They parted, not that night for sleep; had thoughts that well might keep Rest from his pillow,—memory, hope, In youth's horizon had full scope To blend and part each varied line Of cloud and clear, of shade and shine. —He rose and wander'd round, the light Of the full moon fell o'er each height; Leaving the wood behind in shade, O'er rock, and glen, and rill it play'd.