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For the third time the mother impatiently enter'd the chamberWhere the men were sitting, which she had anxiously quitted,Speaking of the approaching storm, and the loss of the moon's light,Then of her son's long absence, and all the perils that night brings.Strongly she censured their friends for having so soon left the youngster,For not even addressing the maiden, or seeking to woo her.

I'd fain, in speeches sweet with skill combin'd,