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Although the king would have laid down His golden sceptre, purple crown, His pomp, his power, but to have prest His child one moment to his breast.

And where was ? her home Was now beneath the forest dome;— A hundred knights had watch'd her hall, Her guards were now the pine trees tall: For harps waked with the minstrel tale, Sang to her sleep the nightingale: For silver vases, where were blent Rich perfumes from Arabia sent, Were odours when the wild thyme flower Wafted its sweets on gale and shower: For carpets of the purple loom The violets spread their cloud of bloom,