O rolling blood-stained Tiber-stream--
O Southerns, all untrue!
Still cherishes the North its sons
Of courage true and high;
Vengeance will roll its thunders soon--
Then, up! and let us die!"
"The melody pleases me," said Adalgoth; "but is it already finished? What is the end?"
"'The end can only be sung in time to the stroke of the sword," said Teja. "Soon, methinks, thou wilt also hear this end." And he rose from his seat. "Go, my Adalgoth," he said; "leave me alone. I have already kept thee far too long from"--and he smiled through all his sadness--"from the loveliest of all duchesses. You have but few of such evening hours to spend together, my poor children! If I could but save your young and budding lives----" He passed his hand across his brow. "Folly!" he then cried; "you are but a part of the doomed nation--perhaps the loveliest."
Adalgoth's eyes had filled with tears as the King mentioned his young wife. He now went up to Teja and laid his hand inquiringly upon his shoulder.
"Is there no hope? She is so young!"