If in thy sight this tearful face was fair,—
(Fair dare I call it now; since thou art near
To shield me ever from the envious hate
Of those less fair!) if worth it seemed to thee
The dreadful daring of the doubtful fight,
Surely that best should be thy dear reward
Which prompted thee to struggle; all is thine!
The dim eyes, dull with weeping bitter tears,
Shall brighten at the sound of thy strong voice;
The frail hands, red with struggling to be free,