Awake, ye West Winds, through the lonely dale,
And Fancy, to thy fairy bower betake;
Even now, with balmy freshness breathes the gale,
Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake;
Through the pale willows faltering whispers wake,
And Evening comes with locks bodropp'd with dew;
On Desmond's mouldering turrets slowly shake
The trembling rye-grass and the harehell blue,
And ever and anon fair Mulla's plaints renew. (William Julius Mickle)

Awake, ye West Winds, through the lonely dale, And Fancy, to thy fairy bower betake; Even now, with balmy freshness breathes the gale, Dimpling with downy wing the stilly lake; Through the pale willows faltering whispers wake, And Evening comes with locks bodropp'd with dew; On Desmond's mouldering turrets slowly shake The trembling rye-grass and the harehell blue, And ever and anon fair Mulla's plaints renew.

William Julius Mickle

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comes dale dew downy evening fair faltering fancy lake now shake trembling wake west wing locks

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