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That was a sacrifice upon the shrine Itself had reared! I will begin it now, Like an old tale:—There was a Princess once, More beautiful than Spring, when the warm look Of Summer calls the blush upon her cheek, The matchless of. She moved in beauty, and where'er she went Some heart did homage to her loveliness. But there was one—a youth of lowly birth— Who worshipped her!—I have heard many say Love lives on hope; they knew not what they said: Hope is Love's happiness, but not its life;— How many hearts have nourished a vain flame In silence and in secret, though they knew They fed the scorching fire that would consume them! Young loved in veriest hopelessness!—