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But one, who paused till they were past, Who look'd the first but spoke the last: Her welcome in its timid fear Fell almost cold on ear; A single look,—he felt he gazed Upon a gentle child no more, The blush that like the lightning blazed, The cheek then paler than before, A something of staid maiden grace, A cloud of thought upon her face; She who had been, in sight, A plaything, fancy, and delight,— Was changed: the depth of her blue eye Spoke to him now of sympathy, And seem'd her melancholy tone A very echo of his own;