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The cottage where his own true maiden dwelt. Just then the bridal party left the church, And, half unconsciously, young Edward looked Upon the bride—that bride was Marion! He stopped not in the village,—spoke to none,— But went again to sea; and never smile Lighted the settled darkness in his eyes: His cheek grew pale, his hair turned grey, his voice Became so sad and low. He once had loved To look upon the sunset, as that hour Brought pleasant memories, such as feed sweet hopes; Now ever gazed he on it with the look Of the young widow over her fair child, Her only child, in the death agony. His heart was withered. Yet, although so false, He never parted with his Marion's gift: