LXIII.
Joy for thee, trembler!—thou redeem’d one, joy!
Young dove set free!—earth, ashes, soulless clay,
Remain’d for baffled vengeance to destroy.
Thy chain was riven! Nor hadst thou cast away
Thy hope in thy last hour!—though love was there
Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer,
And life seem’d robed in beautiful array,
Too fair to leave!—but this might be forgiven,
Thou wert so richly crown’d with precious gifts of heaven!