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Songs of the Slav
Slaves—Good it is to rest the weary body in the light of the moon
'Neath the palms here. Feasting over, our custodian sleeps now;
Sit down 'mongst us, tuneful comrade, and thy sweetly sounding strings tune;
Let thy song reveal the golden thoughts spun in your dreamy brow.
A Slave Girl.—Sing of flowers and stars!
A Young Slave—Praise sing thou to a maid's fair form and eye.
Another.—Ring the bells of jest.
An Old Man.—Disclose the deeds of ages long gone by.
The Bard.—Other themes by far to-day resound through my unhappy soul,
Like the roar and rumble of the storms that o'er the heavens roll.
Far from these are flowery adornment, girlish grace, and heroes' pride:
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