Chapter XVI

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And, but that thou would'st feel a pang for me,
'Twere sweet, methinks, to sleep beneath the wave;
Its murmuring song, like sweetest minstrelsy,
Would rest a wanderer in an early grave,
Within thee, River, many a pale face sleeps--
And many a redman's ghost his vigil keeps--
And many a maid has watched the dark banks over--
He comes not, yet, in truth, he was a faithful lover.