As if a magic spell had wing'd her feet,
Fearing the sounds would vanish into air,
And prove delusion ere she reach'd the spot,
She forward rush'd, and soon beheld the friend,
The dear companion of her youth. She seiz'd
The hand that lay upon the quivering chords,
Stopping their melody and resting mute.
The pause was awful—He at length exclaim'd,
In a deep, laboured cry, "Ye heavenly powers!
If Lora lives, the hand I feel is hers!"