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Rh Her hand was ice, the life pulse was unheard; But at his passionate and wild lament, A ray yet glanc'd upon her vacant eye, Which to Orlando turn'd, as it would close In gazing on the face she had so lov'd;— Then faintly strove to breathe forgiving sounds, Low, inarticulate. Upon her neck He threw himself;—that murmur was her last— The lip he press'd was cold!

XVI.

A curse was laid upon him!—gold and power, Beauty and fame were his, yet still there hung That shadow on his brow; and never smile Was seen to lighten o'er his face: he mov'd As if beneath the influence of some spell, Darkening his soul; his sleep was not repose.