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The mountain fruits his food: and there he lived: Peasants, and one or two tired pilgrims, all That e'er disturbed his hermit solitude. Long months had passed away, when one hot noon He sat beneath the cypresses, and saw A pilgrim slowly urging up the height: The sun was on her head, yet turned she not To seek the shade beside; the path was rough; Yet there she toiled, though the green turf was near. At last she reached the shrine—and Arnold knew His Adeline! Her slender frame was bent, And her small feet left a red trace behind— The blood flowed from them. And he saw her kneel, And heard her pray for him and his return. "Adeline! art thou true?"—One moment more Her head is on his bosom, and his lips