My book

There 's a knock at the door, there 's a pull at the bell, There 's a step on the stair, and she knows the step we'll; The work drops from her hand, and she bounds cross the floor, And the same arms enclasp her, that clasped her of yore ? That clasped her at parting, when o'er the wide sea To the wars Edward went, from his fair Rosalie:? "Now, Edward, my Edward, thou look'st thin and pale; What 's befdllen thee, my loved one? What can Edward ail? Hast been sick, or a prisoner? or travelled too far And too fast home again from the long Turkish war?" "I have not been prisoner, I have not been sick; And who to his bride home e'er travelled too quick? No, R6salie, R6salie ? But I .'ll not speak The fatal word out ? rather let my heart break." "Speak it 6ut, renegade ? for the Crescent I see Glittering here on thy breast, where the Cross used to be ? Speak it out, renegade ? then for ever farewell ? From this hour I 'm the cloister's ? thou he'arest the bell." "One moment, one moment, my Rosalie, stay ? I 'm no longer poor Edward; I m rich Osman Bey; The steed 's at the door, and not far off the sea Where the ship rocking lies that shall this night with me Far away from the Christian's land bear Rosalie." "I know thee not, recreant ? ah, black, dismal day! ? Poor Edward my troth has, not rich Osman Bey. Away o'er the waters without Rosalie ? 1 give thee thy troth back ? away ? tho... --This text refers to an alternate Paperback edition.