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A poison'd poignard in his belt he wore, A crescent sword depended at his side, The deathful quiver at his back he bore, And infants at his very look had died! The moon's cold beam athwart the temple fell, And to his sleeping prey the Tartar led; But soft! a startled camel shook his bell, Then stretch'd his limbs, and rear'd his drowsy head. Hamet awoke! the poignard glitter'd high!
So with Joan I passed the days idly, tending the sheep, or waiting on her as she ploughed, or lying full length on the hillside and talking with her of war and battles. One evening 'twas early in May we had climb'd to the top of the grey tor above Temple, whence we could spy the white sails of the two Channels moving, and, stretch'd upon the short turf there, I was telling my usual tale.
Before I goe? breath not that killing language: There is no sunne but in your eyes, and when I once take leave of those celestiall beames I meet with darkenes in my habitation; Where stretch'd on sable ground I downe shall lay My mournefull body, and with folded Armes Heare sadder noats uppon the Irish harpe And drop division with my brinish teares. Sis. This must be lamentable musick sure! Co.
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