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Vain tributes to remorse! At length she rose, And paced with eager steps her scented bower, Then trimmed her lamp, and gathered flowers and leaves, Twined them in wreaths, and placed them gracefully; Then felt the vanity of all her care, And scattered them around. The morning broke, And hastily she left the shade, to hide From all her anxious heart—her misery! That day she knew her fate—heard that Fernand Was now betrothed to the high-born Blanche. Hermione wept not, although her heart Swelled nigh to bursting; but she hid her thoughts. Next morning she was gone! - - - - -    The palace was all lustre, like a dome, A fairy dome; the roofs were all one blaze