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Rh Her cheek grew pale with frequent tears, that wore The rose away. Oh! burning are the drops That wounded love will shed—like to the dew Falling from off the poison tree, the blight Still following the touch;—ah! other tears Soften and bless—but these destroy the heart. She was alone, a stranger in the land; All her hopes dwelt upon him; she was as A sunborn flower of her native plains, Borne to far northern climes; it languishes When its bright lover, the all-glorious sun, That erst looked smiling on its beauty, turns A cold and clouded glance—its drooping head Sickens and pines. Thus fared it with Zoraide— Passing as flits a morning dream away.

XVIII.

What was his life thenceforth?—a fiery page,