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—, dear, thou art very pale: I would I had not told thee of this tale.— Ha! 'tis the summons of the council bell.— I loathe my task,—sweet, hastily farewell." She strove to speak,—to only wave her hand,— To rise,—her trembling limbs refused to stand: She sought her cross, she strove to think a prayer,— She gasp'd for breath,—no ruby cross is there; But full in view the fatal bracelet shone: ", this is what my love has done; I who would willingly have died for thee,— The fiend has triumph'd in my misery. I'll rush before the judges,—is there time?— But no, I cannot bear to own the crime! And there is nought of proof,—there can be none,— And then his known love for that happier one;—