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The Song Book 337 |
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Night's ling'ring shades are fled, And Phoebus, from his ocean bed,
Through aether wings his flight. Oh ! let thy music sweet His presence with glad welcome greet
In ditties of delight!
Higher yet—yet higher fly; Still soaring upward to the sky :
As when, in fair Eden's grove, Unto the new created pair, You first did tune, to music rare,
A merry song of love !
Words (translated from Talhaiarn) by Oliphant. Tune The Rising of the Lark.
From Thomas's Welsh Melodies. |
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