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Of him alone she thought, whose languid head Faintly upon her wedded bosom fell; Memory of aught but him on earth was fled, While heavily she felt his life-blood well Fast o'er her garments forth, and vainly bound With her torn robe and hair the streaming wound, Yet hoped, still hoped!—Oh! from such hope how long Affection wooes the whispers that deceive, Ev'n when the pressure of dismay grows strong, And we, that weep, watch, tremble, ne'er believe The blow indeed can fall! So bow'd she there, Over the dying, while unconscious prayer Fill'd all her soul. Now pour'd the moonlight down, Veining the pine-stems thro' the foliage brown, And fire-flies, kindling up the leafy place, Cast fitful radiance o'er the warrior's face, Whereby she caught its changes: to her eye, The eye that faded look'd through gathering haze, Whence love, o'ermastering mortal agony, Lifted a long deep melancholy gaze,