Shall be its healing balm. Oh! weep thou not,
Save with a gentle sorrow!
Elm. Must it be?
Art thou indeed to leave me?
Xim. (exultingly.) Be thou glad!
I say, rejoice above thy favour’d child!
Joy, for the soldier when his field is fought,
Joy, for the peasant when his vintage-task
Is closed at eve!—But most of all for her,
Who, when her life had changed its glittering robes