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IX. She gazes on the distance, Until her eyes are dim, And not a cloud that passes But she believes it him.

X. Night after night, her vigils Have worn away her bloom; How often has she started Beside a fancied tomb!

XI. There is no love like woman's,— By distance made more dear; That grows more true and tender With every falling tear.

XII. She is pale with joy—she sees him! The warrior-chief is come! She looks—she cannot speak it— "Lord Ulric, welcome home!"