"And there they left me in that dell untrod, -
Shepherd nor huntsman ever wanders there,
For dread of Pan, that is a jealous God, -
Yea, and the ladies of the streams forbear
The Naiad nymphs, to weave their dances fair,
Or twine their yellow tresses with the shy
Fronds of forget-me-not and maiden-hair, -
There had the priests appointed me to die.
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