Page:The Improvisatrice.pdf/303

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CRESCENTIUS


I looked upon his brow,—no sign
    Of guilt or fear were there,
He stood as proud by that death-shrine
    As even o'er Despair
He had a power; in his eye
There was a quenchless energy,
    A spirit that could dare
The deadliest form that Death could take,
And dare it for the daring's sake.

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