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ought say I here of Sister Clare,Save this, that she was young and fair;As yet a novice unprofessed,Lovely and gentle, but distressed.She was betrothed to one now dead,Or worse, who had dishonoured fled.Her kinsmen bade her give her handTo one who loved her for her land;Herself, almost heart-broken now,Was bent to take the vestal vow,And shroud, within Saint Hilda’s gloom,Her blasted hopes and withered bloom.
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