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Daughter of palaces, yet made Her dwelling place in the green shade; Happy, as she remember'd not Her royal in her peasant lot,— With gentle cares, and smiling eyes As love could feel no sacrifice. Happy her ivory brow to lave Without a mirror but the wave, As one whose sweetness could dispense With all save its own excellence;-- A fair but gentle creature, meant For heart, and hearth, and home content.

It was at night the chase was over, And sat by her lover,— Her lover still, though years had fled Since their first word of love was said,—