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Life were too burthensome, save that it led To death; and peace, at least, was with the dead. One pang remain'd; perchance, though unconfess'd, Some secret hope yet linger'd in her breast; But this too was destroy'd. She learn'd next morn Sea winds and waters had borne Afar to other lands; and she had now But only to her hapless fate to bow.

She changed, she faded, she the young, the gay, Like the first rose Spring yields to pale decay. Still her lip wore the sweetness of a smile, But it forgot its gaiety the while. Her voice had ever a low gentle tone, But now 'twas tremulous as Sorrow's own; Her step fell softer as it were subdued To suit its motion to her alter'd mood;