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Měsjček swjtj.
The moon is descending,
My spirit is tending
To thee, my beloved,
And only to thee!
I see her returning,
And fearing and mourning,
That never—O! never,
Her youth shall she see.
The moon is departed;
I fly, eager-hearted,
That no one may ravish
My maiden from me.
Ye doves! that are plighted—
Ye clouds! by heaven lighted,
Watch over my maiden,
My advocates be!