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mesmerism.
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III.

How fair! her long, dark lashes drooping low
Half veiled her downcast eyes;
But I could read upon her virgin brow
A terror, a surprise,
As if she felt, poor, fragile flower,
The awful menace of that hour!

IV.

My flower! she ever seemed as one who bloomed
For angels, not for earth.
Pathetic sweetness, as of one foredoomed,
Hung round her, from her birth.
In that fair form there seemed a strife,
A struggle as 'twixt Death and Life.

V.

I hoped to conquer Death and thought at last
Through strong magnetic aid
To wrestle with the languor which had cast
O'er that sweet brow its shade;
To save that Life, I would have given
All peace on earth, all joy in heaven!