The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly In Two Volumes |
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The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | ||
XXIII.
But now the world was changed, the die was cast!“How had he slept so long to wake at last?
What hid the feelings that now shook his soul?
Where was the cloud that gave the thunder-roll?
This, this was life; at last he walk'd in light,
The veil of years was rent before his sight.
'T was not her beauty, though the loveliest there
Was lifeless, soulless, featureless to her;
No, nor her melting voice, nor that slight hand
That her sweet harp with such swift beauty fann'd,
Like magic's silver sceptre, hovering
To wake enchantment from the untouch'd string.
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He knew not; 't was like music to his ear,
Familiar, but forgotten; phrensy all!
She was a Moor; nay, could he now recall
The features that had madden'd him? Not one.
All was a flash of splendour, dazzling, gone;
A haze of matchless beauty on his eye,
A sense confused, a vision, witchery.
But she had scorn'd him; were not pain, hate, fear,
In her wild glances, when but he drew near?
Smiles for all else? The truth was now too late,
That hour had stamp'd his life; he saw his fate.
Yet—might not fondness, faith, her scorn remove?
And who could hate, where all the crime was love?”
The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | ||