So in her features did I read her soul.
But he who should have been the guide of both,
With looks of helpless, all-confiding love,
Received support from them—for he was blind.
Around his neck a rosary was hung;
His fingers told the tranquillizing beads,
While in a soft and melancholy chaunt
His wife recited the accustomed prayers,
That fell like balm upon his wounded heart.
For the last time the wonder-working stream