While, past a mist of tears that flow’d, there dawn’d
The light that waited in his clear, blue eye.
“Pauline,” he murmur’d then, “Pauline, my friend—
And what?—You weep for me! I shall not die.—
Nay, do not rise, nor call Doretta yet.
Hist, hist!—nor let her hear us. Why is this,
That you stay never with me when I wake?
“You think you ‘cannot do for me’?—do what?
And have I ask’d you any thing to do?—
I pray you stay: do not do any thing,—