Give shelter to our faults.” When I am gone,
The mists of passion which have dimm’d my name
Will melt like day-dreams; and my memory then
Will be—not what it should have been—for I
Must pass without my fame—but yet unstain’d
As a clear morning dewdrop. Oh! the grave
Hath rights inviolate as a sanctuary’s,
And they should be my own!
Pro. Now, by just Heaven,
I will not thus be tortured!—Were my heart