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His priests received the exhausted Monk,

As breathless in their arms he sunk.

Punctual his orders to obey,

The train refused all longer stay,

Embark'd, raised sail, and bore away.

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THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO THIRD.

THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO THIRD.

HAST thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd,

How, when its echoes fell, a silence dead

Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold? The rye-grass shakes not on the sod-built fold,

The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still, The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd Hold,

Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,

The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill!

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