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Rh Yet once again, the name of Adelaide: They told, a lonely orphan, she had sought The convent's silent shade: some secret grief Had prey'd upon her; and it had been said, She was a victim at the sacred shrine— Rather the bride of sorrow than of heaven. He heard no more, but left the mirthful group, And sought again the groves, where once young love Had borne the halcyon hours upon his wing, Roaming in that strange mood, when conscious wrong Presses upon the heart;—when feelings rise, We may not brook another's eye should see; When memory haunts us, as a spectred form On which we dare not gaze, and solitude Is what we tremble at, yet what we seek.