Was that a lover’s gaze, which chill’d
The soul, its awful sadness thrill’d?
A lover’s brow, so darkly fraught
With all the heaviest gloom of thought?
She trembled—ne’er to grief inured,
By its dread lessons ne’er matured,
Unused to meet a glance of less
Than all a parent’s tenderness,
Shuddering she felt, through every sense,
The deathlike faintness of suspense.