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“ Thou lov'st another then ?-but what to me “Is this—'tis nothing-nothing e'er can be: 1101 “ But yet--thou lov'st-and-Oh! I envy those “ Whose hearts on hearts as faithful can repose, “ Who never feel the void—the wandering thought “ That sighs o'er visions such as mine hath
“ Lady-methought thy love was his, for whom “ This arm redeemed thee from a fiery tomb."
“My love stern Seyd's! Oh-No-No-not my
" Yet much this heart, that strives no more, once
“ To meet his passion—but it would not be. 1110 “ I felt-I feel-love dwells with-with the free. “ I am a slave, a favoured slave at best, “ To share his splendour, and seem very blest!
“ Oft must my soul the question undergo, “ Of— Dost thou love?' and burn to answer .No!' “Oh! hard it is that fondness to sustain, “ And struggle not to feel averse in vain; “ But harder still the heart's recoil to bear, “ And hide from one-perhaps another there, 1119 “ He takes the hand I give not-nor withhold“ Its pulse nor checked—norquickened—calmly cold: “ And when resigned, it drops a lifeless weight “ From one I never loved enough to hate. “ No warmth these lips return by his imprest, " And chilled remembrance shudders o'er the rest.
“ Yes—had I ever proved that passion's zeal, “ The change to hatred were at least to feel : “ But still—he goes unmourned-returns unsought“ And oft when present-absent from my thought. " Or when reflection comes, and come it must- I fear that henceforth 'twill but bring disgust;
“I am his slave-but, in despite of pride, 1132 “ 'Twere worse than bondage to become his bride. “Oh! that this dotage of his breast would cease! “ Or seek another and give mine release, “But yesterday, I could have said, to peace! “ Yes—if unwonted fondness now I feign, “Remember-captive ! 'tis to break thy chain.
Repay the life that to thy hand I owe; “ To give thee back to all endeared below, 1140 " Who share such love as I can never know. • Farewell—morn breaks—and I must now away: “ 'Twill cost me dear-but dread no death to-day!”
She pressed his fettered fingers to her heart,
hath dropped and sparkles o'er his chain? The tear most sacred, shed for other's pain, That starts at once-bright-pure-from Pity's mine Already polished by the hand divine !
Oh! too convincing—dangerously dear-
lose not earth-but heaven! Consign their souls to man's eternal foe, And seal their own to spare some wanton's woe!
'Tis morn—and o'er his altered features play
END OF CANTO II.