Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/221

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Is immortality! The heart whose beat Is echoed by the lyre, will have its griefs, Its tenderness, remembered, when each pulse Has long been cold and still. Some pitied him, And others marvelled, half in mockery; They little knew what pride love ever has In self-devotedness. The Princess heard Of her pale lover; but none ever knew Her secret thoughts: she heard it silently. It could not be but woman's heart must feel Such fond and faithful homage!—But some deemed Even such timid worship was not meet For royalty. They bade the youth depart, And the King sent him gold; he turned away, And would not look upon the glittering treasure— And then they banished him! He heard them say