“I sought a furlough then, but ere ’twas given
Occasion thrust a battle in my way.
We fought, I know not how, but far were driven;
I, wounded, fell; then fled from me the ray
That reason beams. I knew no more till day
Dawned on me here; and now I hear the calling
Of voices strange; and moans, death-dying, lay
Their weight upon my soul, as deeply palling
The tired senses, come clogged shadows thickly falling.
XIX.
“Still let me cling to life; though hope be fled,
That mission I would fill for him whose hand
Gave me the charge; but even that hope is dead,
And from the glass of time the sliding sand
Is almost run. Oh, thou mayest understand
And yet fulfil my unavailing vow.
While yet I breathe on life’s uncertain strand,
To thee I give the sacred trust. Even now
Death’s touch is at my heart, his chill is on my brow.”
XX.
The faltering voice Irene no longer heard.
She saw the picture she had given to him
Her heart most yearned to reach. Then all appeared
Dark and confused; the while her senses swim,
The light burns blue, and waning visions dim
Flit o’er her mind; and voices distant seem
Like troubled waters moaning, phantoms grim,
Shades horrible; then reason’s flickering beam
Lit up—all, all as ’twere a wild, distempered dream.
XXI.
Oh! there are moments of our life a part,
When the soul’s passion is too vast, too deep
For Sorrow’s shafts to pierce the quivering heart;
Feeling is numbed in a half-conscious sleep,
In aching weariness the senses steep,
And a cold chill like death-breath freezes o’er
The fount of tears, and will not let one weep.
Then pent within the spirit’s inmost core
The fire burns but consumes not, burning evermore.