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Oh, if my head but ached, or fev'rish sleep, Or the more potent secret cause forced from me One groan or sigh, what tones of kind alarm! And the soft pressure of her gentle hand In mute affliction, till I smiled again! Here, on my bursting heart I feel it still, Though cold and changed she be. Within these fated precincts doth for me Love to aversion turn.

What dost thou mean by a mysterious power? And but ev'n now methought I heard thee name A potent secret cause.—Thou hast been wont Freely to make me sharer of thy thoughts— Of all thy secret wishes.

So I have: Nought for thy good to hear or mine to utter, Have I conceal'd from thee.—I hear a noise.

No; I hear nothing.

But my ear is quick;— Too quick, perhaps, in fancying sounds that are not.