Page:The Vow of the Peacock.pdf/174

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Of some fine touch has moulded it to beauty. Yet there are tears within those radiant eyes, And that fair brow is troubled! She is young; But her heart's youth is gone, and innocence, And peace, and soft and gentle thoughts, have fled A breast, the sanctuary of unhallowed fires, That love has led to guilt. At each light stir Of but a waving branch, a falling leaf, A deeper crimson burnt upon her cheek, Each pulse beat eagerly, for every sound To her was Fernand's sept, and then she sank Pallid and tearful, with that sickening throb Of sadness only love and fear can know. The night pass'd on--she touched the silver chords, And answered with her voice her lone guitar. It pleased her for a while:—it soothes the soul