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Or bring her down with sorrow to the grave, Her words grew inarticulate, and sobs Alone found utterance; and he whose cheek Was flushed with eagerness, whose ardent eye Gave animated promise of the fame That would be his, whose ear already rang With the loud trumpet's war song, felt these dreams Fade for a moment, and almost renounced The fields he panted for, since they must cost Such tears as these. The churchyard left, they pass'd Down by a hawthorn hedge, where the sweet May Had showered its white luxuriance, intermixed With crimson clusters of the wilding rose, And linked with honeysuckle. O'er the path