Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/157

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And fill his spirit with a calm delight; But with a quick though noiseless step, as one Who fears the very echo of that step May raise a spectre. When he reached the fount He sat down by its side, and turned to gaze Upon the cottage: from his brow the sweat Poured down like summer rain; there came no sound From his white lips, but you might hear his heart Beating in the deep silence. But at length A voice came to his sorrow:—"Never—never "Shall I look on their face again! Farewell! "I cannot bear that word's reproach, nor look "On pale lips breathing blessings which the tears "Belie in speaking! I have blighted all— "All—all their hopes, and my own happiness!"