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THE SILVER CHALICE.

Who grew to love her; and she cherisht him

Till her own children stole from him her heart.

But when the long halls and slope-walk'd gardens wide

Sounded with children's voices, Tristram grown

To vigorous youth, the others prattlers mere,

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One shadow - in the firelight of her eyes

Never illum'd, so dark her inmost thoughts

Stumbled against and knew each other not -

Lay o'er her heart: that he, the son of Beth,

Was kingdom's heir, and hers in second place

Must fall, who now was queen. The spark o' desire

Blacken'd thro' her scruples, till it flasht out hot

And quiver'd in a passionate fire of hate.

What way but thro' his death lay open to her?

How reach it, seeing hers was a woman's foot?

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