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SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY.
SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the
the less, Had half impair’d the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A heart whose love is innocent!
THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL
THE AARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT,
O’er tones her heart of hearts had given,
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It softened men of iron mould, gave
them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,
That felt not, fired not to the tone,