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The bright cloud shone on the river's face, But the death-black waters had not a trace Of the crimson blaze that over them play'd:   It seem'd as if a curse were laid On the grass, on the river, the tree, and the flower, And shut them out from the sunbeam's power; And with the last ray which the sunbeam threw, The dove flew up, and vanished too. And knew she had reach'd that hall Where her lover lay sleeping in magic thrall; And she sat her down by a blasted tree, To watch for what her fate might be. But at midnight the gates roll'd apart with a sound Like the groan sent forth from the yawning ground. On she went with scarce light to show That gulf and darkness were below,—