Midst that rude cavern, touch’d with sculpture’s grace,
By torchlight and by death: until at last
From her deep heart the spirit of the past
Gush’d in low broken tones:—“And there thou art!
And thus we meet, that loved, and did but part
As for a few brief hours! My friend, my friend!
First love, and only one! Is this the end
Of hope deferr’d, youth blighted! Yet thy brow
Still wears its own proud beauty, and thy cheek
Smiles—how unchanged!—while I, the worn, and weak,