XLI

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XLI

How oft, when on a summer night

Transparent o’er the Neva beamed

The firmament in mellow light,

And when the watery mirror gleamed

No more with pale Diana’s rays,

We called to mind our youthful days⁠—

The days of love and of romance!

Then would we muse as in a trance,

Impressionable for an hour,

And breathe the balmy breath of night;

And like the prisoner’s our delight

Who for the greenwood quits his tower,

As on the rapid wings of thought

The early days of life we sought.