And suddenly, with brief, dread interval,
Comes down the mortal stroke. But of that hour
As yet I know not. Each low throbbing pulse
Of the quick pendulum may usher in
Eternity!
Blanche, (kneeling before him.) My father! lay thy hand
On thy poor Blanche’s head, and once again
Bless her with thy deep voice of tenderness—
Thus breathing saintly courage through her soul,
Ere we are call’d.