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Redwald

A Tale of Mona: And other poems. By Louisa Stuart Costello
 

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“No! Edith, no! to pass regardless, dread,
“A solemn warning from the restless dead;
“My throbbing brain at once the truth descries,
“And double horror meets my tortur'd eyes!
“Oh! how I could reproach thee for the grief
“My heart has borne, nor ever hop'd relief!
“By all the sacred vows that angels knew,
“Which should have taught thy father to be true,
“Can'st thou forget that thou wert justly mine—
“And did I not my happiness resign?
“Did I not yield thee all—and leave thee free
“To choose another, tho' 'twas death to me?
“And is it hard a recompence to spare.
“For all my sorrows—and my deep despair?

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“Yes—yes! the cause thy looks too surely prove,
“The murd'rer is thy Redwald—is thy love!”