Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/165

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And as watched, his heart grew sick To hear her rave of outrage, wrongs, and death;— How they were wakened from their midnight sleep By gleaming steel—curses—and flaming roof! And then she groaned, and prayed herself to die!

It was an evening when through the green leaves Of the old chesnut shot the golden light Of the rich sunset; into the fresh air bore the maiden he had nurst As the young mother nurses her sick child. She laid her head upon his heart, and slept Her first sweet quiet sleep: the evening-star Gleamed through the purple twilight when she waked. Her memory aroused not to the full—