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IX. It was to seek forgetfulness, Though from the sword or spear— How could he think on one too false, And, oh! yet still too dear.

X. I stood next by a lovely one, She looked the queen of all; And every eye was turned to her, Star of the festal hall!

XI. But her dark eye had troubled light, Such as the wild storms shed; The beacon-sign of inward strife Was that cheek's flushing red.

XII. That proud heart had been given to one, Who sought it not to win, And now she only strove to hide The burning wound within.

XIII. Leant by a marble column near, There stood a youthful bard, And were praise all the poet asks, He had won his reward.