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Rh

And paused at last, and laid Himself beneath a chesnut's shade, A little way apart from all, That he might catch the waterfall, Whose current swept like music round,— When suddenly another sound Came on the ear; it was a tone, Rather a murmur than a song, As he who breathed deem'd all unknown The words, thoughts, echo bore along. Parting the boughs which hung between, Close, thick, as if a tapestried screen, caught sight of a white plume Waving o'er brow and cheek of bloom; And yet the song was sad and low, As if the chords it waked were woe.