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And long is the day
Ere home he can be;
But where'er his steed prances,
Amid thronging lances,
Sure he'll think of the glances
That love stole from me!
He is gone! he is gone!
Like the leaf from the tree;
But his heart is of stone
If it ne'er dream of me!
For I dream of him ever:
His buff-coat and beaver,
And long-sword, O, never
Are absent from me!
M
