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Upon that dear child's head, whose tenderness Had made him half forget the path he trod Was hurrying to the grave. But he was dead, And stood in his lonely halls, An orphan, last of all her race and name, Without one tie of kindred or of love To bind her to the earth. Yet few there were That dream'd the hidden grief that lurk'd within. Too kind, too gentle not to be beloved, Many a vassal mourn'd the coming death, Whose sign was written on his lady's cheek. She died in silence, without sign or word That might betray the memory of her fate; But when they heard her last request, to lie Beneath the shade of the laburnum tree, Which grew beside the mountain rivulet,