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THE SONG OF GULNARE.

I

Far from my own land, the land of my fathers,
The ship of the stranger now bears me away;
Darkly around me the ocean mist gathers,
I hear not a sound, save the dash of the spray.
Now, near me, night-watch the forecastle paces,
Striving to banish the exile's despair,
He praises the Isles that we seek, but all places
Are cheerless without the sweet song of Gulnare.

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II

Oh! my own country, thy fruits and thy flowers
Would fade 'neath the islander's temperate sky,
Let me return to the orange-tree bowers,
And there with my own love contented I'll die.
They say that they lead me where woman possesses
A soft eye of azure, and light golden hair;
But give me the land of the long ebon tresses,
The glance of dark lustre, the song of Gulnare.