The high reward of vigilance and pain;
Till then I take, and on my bended knee,
Scraps from the banquet, gleanings of the tree.”
Pitying, I smiled; for I had known the time 180
Of Love insulted—constancy my crime.
Not thus our friend: for him the morning shone
In tenfold glory, as for him alone;
He wept, expecting still reproof to meet,
And all that was not cruel count as sweet.
Back he return’d, all eagerness and joy;