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The attending maidens smiled to see.
How long, how deep, how zealously,
The precious juice the Minstrel quaffed;
And he, emboldened by the draught,
Looked gaily back to them, and laughed.
The cordial nectar of the bowl
Swelled his old veins, and cheered his soul;
A lighter, livelier prelude ran,
Ere thus his tale again began.

THE

LAY

OF

THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO THIRD.

THE

LAY OF THE LAST MINSTREL.

CANTO THIRD.
I.

And said I that my limbs were old;
And said I that my blood was cold,
And that my kindly fire was fled,
And my poor withered heart was dead,
i And that I might not sing of love ?—
How could I to the dearest theme,
That ever warmed a minstrel's dream,
So foul, so false, a recreant prove!

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