“OVER the moor a lady fair
Took her way so sadly;
Her face was pale, her bosom bare,
Sweet she sung, though madly:
“”I had a lover once, believe me,
His blue eyes shone so mildly;
He’s gone, and can I choose but grieve me?
He’s lost, and I wander wildly.
“”Stranger, do not look on me!
What would you discover?
I had a serpent sister-she
It was who stole my lover.
“”Stranger, do not weep for me!
I am past complaining;
The struggle that you think you see
Is pride my love disdaining.
“”But this struggle will not last,
Not beyond tomorrow;
Life’s idle hour I pass so fast,
I leave behind my sorrow.
“”Farewell, stranger-now farewell!
Here I cannot ponder-
Hark, I hear the warning bell!
Death is waiting yonder.
“”In dim perspective, see, oh! see
His shadowy figure bending
O’er a small spot meant for me-
Round pale ghosts attending.””
Sudden she turn’d, her wounded mind
With wilder frenzy firing-
“”Farewell!”” linger’d on the wind,
My soul with grief inspiring.
Maniac sweet! I do not know,
Though sad thy lot and dreary,
If happier still thou art not, so,
Than of reas’ning sorrows weary.
(Charlotte Dacre)”
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