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Her cheek burns with a redder dye, Flashes light from her tearful eye; She has heard pinions beat the air, She sees her white dove floating there; And well she knows its faithful wing, The treasure of her heart will bring; And takes the gentle bird its stand Accustom'd on the maiden's hand, With glancing eye and throbbing breast, As if rejoicing in its rest. She read the scroll,—"dear love, to-night   By the lake, all is there for flight    What time the moon is down;—oh, then    My own life shall we meet again!" One upward look of thankfulness, One pause of joy, one fond caress