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The vow which soothed her, and the hope which cheer'd, The pride which nerved, with him had disappear'd. ", dear !"—'twas in vain:— The mocking echo answer'd her again. —It is deep wretchedness, this passionate burst Of parting's earlier grief, but not the worst; It is the lingering days of after care, That try the wasted spirit most to bear. Now listless, languid, as the world had left Nothing to interest, of him bereft; Now lull'd by opiate thoughts that but restore The mind its tone, to make it sink the more; Now fever'd by anxiety, for rife Are fears when fancy calls them into life;