Oh, Fate!--accuse thy folly--not thy fate; She may redeem thee still--nor yet too late." 340 XIV. Thus with himself communion held he, till He reached the summit of his tower-crowned hill: There at the portal paused--for wild and soft He heard those accents never heard too oft! Through the high lattice far yet sweet they rung, And these the notes his Bird of Beauty sung: 1. "Deep in my soul that tender secret dwells, Lonely and lost to light for evermore, Save when to thine my heart responsive swells, Then trembles into silence as before. 350 2. "There, in its centre, a sepulchral lamp Burns the slow flame, eternal--but unseen; Which not the darkness of Despair can damp, Though vain its ray as it had never been. 3. "Remember me--Oh! pass not thou my grave Without one thought whose relics there recline: The only pang my bosom dare not brave Must be to find forgetfulness in thine. 4. "My fondest--faintest--latest accents hear--[ht] Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove; 360 Then give me all I ever asked--a tear,[203] The first--last--sole reward of so much love!" He passed the portal, crossed the corridor, And reached the chamber as the strain gave o'er: "My own Medora! sure thy song is sad--"