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FROM THE ITALIAN .

I.

Yes ! Pride of soul shall nerve me now,
To think of thee no more;
And coldness steel the heart and brow
That passion swayed before!
Think'st thou that I will share thy breast,
Whilst dwells a fondlier cherished guest.
Deep in its inmost core?
No;—by my hopes of Heaven! I'll be
A LL—ALL —or nothing unto thee!

II.

Thy hand hath oft been clasped i......

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