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XXIV.

“Let then my nuptial rites be said—
As fiends should wed—so will I wed,
And Isabel shall grace my bed”—
—“Now God forbid!”—cried Lodowick
And all that pageant faded quick,
As the blaze of the levin red—
As when in the fulness of ripen'd years,
When the last trump shall shake the spheres,
Yon heavens away shall fade!