On her own blood; and blamed her joy as thief
Of theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr’d;
When she their care might be their care’s relief.
All day she brooded on her father’s woe,
And when at night her lover kisst her, lo!
Her tender face was wet with tears of grief.
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Then question’d why she wept, she all confest;
And begg’d of him she might but once go nigh
To set her sire’s and sisters’ fears at rest;