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Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software. The text has not been manually corrected and should not be relied on to be an accurate representation of the item.
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Untitled Article
The years roll on , and still 1 yebrn Beyond the grave tow a rds passion ' s bourne And still my form upon the mound Fronting the archway ' s wreck is found . Green is this hank as when my bride Was seated on it by my side ; yfffi& I ^ whfle thou ! Delora !
Full well I know , amid that pile Are caverns reaching many a mile ; And thus , sometimes I doubting deem My love was stolen ; yet such dream Of her removal and her death By that lord lecher ' s withering- breath , I quick discard , —my pride beneath : Delora !
And yet , a passing wish at times To know she ' s dead my fix'd will climbs , And draws it down from passion great , I' the weakness of this mortal state , Unto the deep desire of peace ; To gush out all—and die , and cease— . And find with thee a bless'd release , Delora !
And oh ! I oft , as martyr faint With torment , hath denied his Saint , Have question ' d whether manhood high Against all hope should lingering die For any sweet and trancy flower ? But thou from destiny had ' st dower To win my soul , absorb my power ; Delora !
And thus again I ever turn To hug my pang-fed sufferance stern ; Yet , though my being ne ' can cower It cannot ward the wasting hour : Identity , half changed with age , 1 b passing like a finish'd page , — Yet still I grmftp my palsied gage ; Ijelora !
i . ¦ . i - / i ' > * In the simplicity of his own nature , Ue ckrabteth bow an ejdle should work mwh deep trtecfaery from across the aea . Fox * then ityouW prove hi * constant vigil to be all in vain .