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In her own cabin, heedless of these scenes
Of death and sorrow, lay a simple maid,
Weeping in bitterness the night away,
Ay, supplicating heaven for death's relief.
Yet neither pain nor sickness agonized
Her youthful person, and she was possessed
Of riches, beauty, dear and gentle friends.
What then was her affliction? Why the child
Had listened to the flatteries of a man,
Whom her young heart deemed faultless, for he seemed
Disinterested, generous, noble-souled,
And so devoted—could she doubt his truth?
Then he was handsome, graceful, and genteel;
Her eye was dazzled, and her simple heart

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Quite captivated; and she thought that earth
Had not another like him, or held aught
That could compensate for her loss of him.
Her father saw him in another light;
A libertine, a base, designing knave,
A fortune-hunter, a low grovelling soul,
The old man's keen and well-experienced eye
Discovered him to be. He loved his child,
And sought to save her from the bitter years
Of bootless, keen repentance and distress.
This was the sorrow that so frenzied her.