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THE DRUNKARD'S BRIDE. 147
A look of bitterness was there Upon her still and shadowy face;
A look of deep, corroding care, Too painful for the eye to trace ;
A look of woe that touched the heart,
And bade the fount of feeling start.
Some whispered that a few sad years Would bow her gentle spirit down;
Yet no complaint, save silent tears, On the meek face was ever known:
They said that her's was blighting woe—
Ah, who could all its blightings know!
Who knew the weary hours she listened With beating heart the well-known tread?
The while her dark eye sadly glistened, And her young heart grew faint with dread ?
And who could know the pang that rent
Her soul from its clay tenement ?
None, save that ever watchful Eye
Placed on the wrong'd and helpless ever—
Heaven heard the first disturbing sigh,
Heaven sawthequiv'ring heart-strings sever!
Woe, woe to him, the thoughtless one,
Who crushed the fair, meek blossom down!