When those glories gave her joy;When yet her heart revered the truth,When her glad soul, in endless youth
Unchequer'd by alloy;The sacred double-numbers then
He feels, and grinneth hideously;He feels Hell's speechless agonies,A thousand times he howls and sighs:
What I had fail'd in, and what rightly done.She smiled, and cured me with that smile's sweet grace,
Following fast in its rear, while it seems flying pursuit.All forebodes a prosperous voyage; the sailor with calmness
As a man of mortal birth,--
Mine he was! Yes, only mine!
TRANSPLANT the beauteous tree!Gardener, it gives me pain;A happier resting-placeIts trunk deserved.
COULD this early bliss but rest
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