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i92 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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The panting steed, with a drooping crest,
Stood weary. The king returned from her chamber of rest, The thick sobs choking in his breast;
And, that dumb companion eyeing, The tears gushed forth which he strove to check; He bowed his head on his charger's neck : " O steed—that every nerve didst strain, Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain
To the halls where my love lay dying ! " |
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