Sidor som bilder
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Though poor, alone, And all unknown, Even to him for whom I die.


"Thou know'st it all—my tale is done—
My feeble strength and breath are gone,
And I can only offer thee
Thanks for thy prayer and sympathy—
Implore thee to return this ring

To Gamba when I am no more,
And tell him all this suffering

That Isabelle for Gamba bore—
It is the pledge he gave to me
To seal love's vows of constancy
In our own lovely Italy
I pray, too, thou'lt restore to him

This gold, which at my feet he threw,
When lingering on Nieva's brim,
To list the lute I swept for him, •

And me unrecognized to view.
I have bedewed it with my tears,
Till scarce the hue of gold it wears—
I've worn it nearest to my heart,
And now 'tis hard from it to part;

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