O’er his pale cheek a hectic glow:
And oft his features and his air
A shade of troubled mystery wear,
A glance of hurried wildness, fraught
With some unfathomable thought.
Whate’er that thought, still unexpress’d
Dwells the sad secret in his breast;
The pride his haughty brow reveals
All other passion well conceals—
He breathes each wounded feeling’s tone