THE NIGHTINGALE, OR THE TRANSFORMED DAMSEL
I know where stands a Castellaye, Its turrets are so fairly gilt;With silver are its gates inlaid, Its walls of marble stone are built.
Within it stands a linden tree, With lovely leaves its boughs are hung,Therein doth dwell a nightingale, And sweetly moves that bird its tongue.
A gallant knight came riding by, He heard its dulcet ditty...
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