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Life is returning; she is laid uneasily; There's motion on her lips, and on her eyelids. Her eyes begin, through their soft raven lashes, To peer like dew-drops from the harebell's core, As the warm air of day by slow degrees The closed leaves gently sever.—Yes; she moves. How art thou now, sweet Alice?

See, she looks up, and gazes on us too; But, oh, how strangely!

Why do her eyes thus wander round the chamber? (To Alice.) Whom dost thou seek for, Alice?

She's gone; I need not look; a mortal eye Shall never, never look on her again. [A peal of thunder heard.] Hear ye that sound? She is upon her way.

What does she mean? It was a sultry night, And threaten'd storm and lightning.