Ravensby.
‘Th’ intensity of grief destroys itself.
The torturer beholds his Victim stretched
Unconscious, pain itself o’ercome by pain.
Fate dooms me now to death; last punishment
Which mortal can inflict,—and yet I feel
There’s mercy in the doom. Thus to live on
Were lingering martyrdom; it were to die
By inches, drain my heart’s blood drop by drop.
One flash ends all! O Clara, when my soul