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And Elinore arrayed the bride, And bound her golden hair; And if her cheek was pale, it seemed But a fond sister's care.

Years passed; beside their lonely hearth. She cheered her father's age, And made, for him, life's last dark leaf A sweet and sunny page.

Did never other lovers come? They did—but came in vain; A heart like hers, when given once, Is given not again.