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And night came on:—with what dim fear I mark'd the darkling hours appear,— I could not gaze on the dear brow, And seeing was all left me now. I grasp'd the cold hand in mine own, Till both alike seem'd turn'd to stone. Night, morn, and noontide pass'd away, Then came the tokens of decay.

'Twas the third night that I had kept My watch, and, like a child, had wept Sorrow to sleep, and in my dream I saw her as she once could seem, Fair as an angel: there she bent As if sprung from the element, The bright clear fountain, whose pure wave Her soft and shadowy image gave.