“Oh! is it thus,” he cries, “we meet at last?
Friend of my soul in years for ever past!
Hath fate but led me hither to behold
The last dread struggle, ere that heart is cold,—
Receive thy latest agonising breath,
And with vain pity soothe the pangs of death?
Yet let me bear thee hence—while life remains,
E’en though thus feebly circling through thy veins,
Some healing balm thy sense may still revive;
Hope is not lost—and Osmyn yet may live!