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282 'Tis here, beneath this letter brown with age,

All stained with tear-drops, and still stained with blood.

His letter! Ah! you promised me one day

That I should read it.

What would you?—His letter?

Yes, I would fain,—to-day…

See! here it it!

Hare I your leave to open?

Open—read!

''Roxane, adieu! I soon must die!'' This very night, beloved; and I Feel my soul heavy with love untold. ''I die! No more, as in days of old,'' My loving, longing eyes will feast On your least gesture—ay, the least!