XXIX.
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hen by the bed-side, where the faded moonMade a dim, silver twilight, soft he setA table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereonA cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:--O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:-- 260The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
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