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Perchance, at times, within her heart may rise Remembrance of some early love or woe, Faded, yet scarce forgotten—in her eyes, Wakening the half-formed tear that may not flow, Yet radiant seems her lot as aught on earth, Where still some pining thought comes darkly o'er our mirth.

The world before her smiles—its changeful gaze She hath not proved as yet—her path seems gay With flowers and sunshine—and the voice of praise Is still the joyous herald of her way; And beauty's light around her dwells, to throw, O'er every scene, its own resplendent glow.

Such is the young Bianca—graced with all That nature, fortune, youth, at once can give; Pure in their loveliness—her looks recall Such dreams, as ne'er life's early bloom survive;