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That wild one had a feeling heart!
And when the minstrel would depart,
To wander o'er the hills, and stray
Upon the beetling cliff—his way,
By morn and noon, in sun and shade,
Was lighted by that dark eyed maid:
And when he trod a dangerous height,
Her shout would lead the wanderer right:

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And he would then submissive turn,
And smile as if he felt her care:
And when they met, his cheek would burn,
As if he knew what led her there.