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noble as the Earl?" I see her red lips scornful curl, I feel her hold my hand again So tightly, that I shrink in pain-- I seem to hear her say, "He whom I tell you of, who died, He was so noble and so gay, So generous and so brave, That the proud Earl by his dear side Would look a craven slave." She paused; then, with a quivering sigh, She laid her hand upon my brow: "Live like him, darling, and so die. Remember that he tells you now, True peace, real honour, and content, In cheerful pious toil abide; That gold and splendour are but sent To curse our vanity and pride." One day some childish fever pain Burnt in my veins and fired my brain. Moaning, I turned from side to side; And, sobbing in my bed, I cried, Till night in calm and darkness crept Around me, and at last I slept. When suddenly I woke to see The Lady bending over me. The drops of cold November rain Were falling from her long, damp hair; Her anxious eyes were dim with pain; Yet she looked wondrous fair. Arrayed for some great feast she came, With stones that shone and burnt like flame; Wound round her neck, like some bright snake, And set like stars within her hair, They sparkled so, they seemed to make A glory everywhere. I felt her tears upon my face, Her kisses on my eyes; And a strange thought I could not trace I felt within my heart arise; And, half in feverish pain, I said: "Oh if my mother were not dead!" And Walter bade me sleep; but she Said, "Is it not the same to thee That I watch by thy bed?" I answered her, "I love you, too; But it can never be the same; She was no Countess like to you, Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame." Oh the wild look of fear and dread! The cry she gave of bitter woe! I often wonder what I said To make her moan and shudder so. Through the long night she tended me With such sweet care and charity. But should weary you to tell All that I know and love so well: Yet one night more stands out alone With a sad sweetness all its own. The wind blew loud that dreary night: Its wailing voice I well remember: The stars shone out so large and bright Upon the frosty fir-boughs white, That dreary night of cold December. I saw old Walter silent stand, Watching the soft white flakes of snow With looks I could not understand, Of strange perplexity and woe. At last he turned and took my hand, And said the Countess just had sent To bid us come; for she would fain See me once more, before she went Away-
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