The morn beheld that conflict of despair:—
’Twas then he fell—he fell!—and thou wert there!
Thou! who thy country’s children hast pursued
To their last refuge midst these mountains rude.
Was it for this I loved thee?—Thou hast taught
My soul all grief, all bitterness of thought!
’Twill soon be past—I bow to heaven’s decree,
Which bade each pang be minister’d by thee.”
“I had not deem’d that aught remain’d below
For me to prove of yet untasted woe;