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XIV.
Turn, now, where stood the spotless Virgin: sweetHer azure eye, and fair her golden ringlets;
But changeful as the hues of infancy
Her face. As on her son, her God, she gazed,
Fixed was her look,—earnest, and breathless;—now,
Suffused her glowing cheek; now, changed to pale;—
First, round her lip a smile celestial played,
Then, fast, fast rained the tears.—Who can interpret?—
Perhaps some thought maternal crossed her heart;
That mused on days long passed, when on her breast
He helpless lay, and of his infant smile;
Or, on those nights of terror when, from worse
Than wolves, she hasted with her babe to Egypt.
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