Page:The Venetian Bracelet.pdf/142

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He saw a lovely portrait almost hid By the gray cobwebs and the gather'd dust; That he had clear'd it carefully, and thought It should be with my favourite pictures hung— And here it is, my own kind Jaromir.

He brought it here!—O Bertha, kneel and pray!— The shadowy likeness, when the actual shape Is distant far; the dream whose prophecy Comes when we waken terribly distinct; The shriek the grave sends up in the still night, Are not such deadly omens as that face. My young, my good, my fair, what hath that curse That is upon thine house to do with thee?