She sat beneath a birchen-tree,
Her elbow resting on her knee;
She had withdrawn the fatal shaft,
640 And gazed on it, and feebly laughed;
Her wreath of broom and feathers gray,
Daggled with blood, beside her lay.
The Knight to staunch the life-stream tried-
"Stranger, it is in vain!" she cried.
645 "This hour of death has g
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