Nay, thine
All joy that thou canst take; I would not rob
Thee of one little hair’s-breadth.
The Maiden (laying her head on the pillow).
Oh, farewell,
My love! my love! my love! [Weeps.
The Lady.
Child, do not sob.
Come to me—let me hold you; who can tell,
Perhaps he hears you, though so still. We’ll stand
Together by his side—thus, hand-in-hand—
And gaze on his calm face.
Woman of the House (below).
The wagon’s here.
The Maiden.
Alas! and I must hasten. Kiss me, dear;
Indeed, I love you now.
The Lady.