Between the Past and Present,
On that bleak moment’s height,
She stood. As some lost traveller
By a quick flash of light
Seeing a gulf before him,
With dizzy, sick despair,
Reels to clutch backward, but to find
A deeper chasm there.
XIV.
The twilight grew still darker,
The fragrant flowers more sweet,
The stars shone out in heaven,
The lamps gleam’d down the street;
And hours pass’d in dreaming
Over their new-found fate,
Ere they could think of wondering
Why Bertha was so late.
XV.
She came, and calmly listen’d;
In vain they strove to trace
If Herbert’s memory shadow’d
In grief upon her face.
No blame, no wonder show’d there,
No feeling could be told;
Her voice was not less steady,
Her manner not more cold.
XVI.
They could not hear the anguish
That broke in words of pain
Through that calm summer midnight,—
“My Herbert—mine again!”
Yes, they have once been parted,
But this day shall restore
The long lost one: she claims him:
“My Herbert—mine once more!”
XVII.
Now Christmas Eve returning,
Saw Bertha stand beside
The altar, greeting Dora,
Again a smiling bride;
And now the gloomy evening
Sees Bertha pale and worn,
Leaving the house for ever,
To wander out forlorn.
XVIII.