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Yet what has daylight brought?—a haunting dread. Hark! the hall echoes to a stranger's tread— It is the Count :—"My fair child, How now!—thy cheek is wan, thine eyes are wild. Ah, well, the rose is brightening on thy cheek: I was too hasty with my sudden break Upon thy solitude; scarce may I tell The crime and horror which last night befell. I have no time. The Count 's bride— You saw her—by some sudden poison died; And strange suspicions on her husband fall: There were so many present who recall He gave her the sherbet:—'twas not all drain'd; Part of the venom in the cup remain'd. Some say 'twas jealousy:—I'm on my way To the tribunal that will sit to-day.