V.
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change came o'er the spirit of my dream.The Lady of his love was wed with OneWho did not love her better:--in her home,A thousand leagues from his,--her native home,She dwelt, begirt with growing Infancy, 130Daughters and sons of Beauty,--but behold!Upon her face there was the tint of grief,The settled shadow of an inward strife,And an unquiet drooping of the eye,As if its lid were charged with unshed tears.[48]What could her grief be?--she had all she loved,And he who had so loved her was not thereTo trouble with bad hopes, or evil wish,Or ill-repressed affliction, her pure thoughts.What could her grief be?--she had loved him not, 140Nor given him cause to deem himself beloved,Nor could he be a part of that which preyedUpon her mind--a spectre of the past.
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