But little joy in life could Lion see,
Striving to gird his will to set his loved one free,
While in his heart a hope still struggled dim
That the mad hour would pass, the darkness break,
The fever die, and she return to him,
The routed nightmare let the sleeper wake.
"Then we could go abroad," he cried, "and make
A new life, soul to soul; oh, love! return."
"Too late," his heart replied. At last he rode to learn.
Bowed, but alive with hope, he topped the pass,