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Doubt, despairing, crime, and craft, Are upon that honied shaft. It has made the crowned king Crouch beneath his suffering; Made the beauty's cheek more pale Than the foldings of her veil: Like a child the soldiers kneel, Who had mock'd at flame or steel; Bade the fires of genius turn On their own breasts; and there burn, A wound, a blight, a curse, a doom, Bowing young hearts to the tomb. Well may storm be on the sky, And the waters roll on high, When that passion passes by; Earth below, and heaven above, Well may bend to thee, O Love!

this conversation was going on between Sir Jasper Meredith and Ethel Churchill, one of almost a similar kind was progressing between the very object of his solicitude and