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Sleep, ladye! to thy rest be given The gleamings of thy native heaven, And thoughts of early paradise, The treasures of thy sleeping eyes.

  not say whose was the song The sighing night winds bore along. had left the maiden's side As one too dizzy with the tide To breast the stream, or strive, or shrink, Enough for him to feel, not think; Enough for him the dim sweet fear, The twilight of the heart, or ere Awakening hope has named the name Of love, or blown its spark to flame. 