We may escape. Come. Nay, this cannot be.
Ah, God!—not this. Have pity; undo it, revoke;
O let thy hand for once undo.
Thou mightest, O Thou mightest. Ah, how cold.
Oh! oh! he is murdered. Blood, his blood. ’Tis true.
Dead, and my dream, my fate, my love; ’tis done.
The end. Nay, God, as Thou art God, I trust Thee;
Take me with him. Here in this bower of death
I leave my body,—to this pitiless world
Of hate: and to thy peaceful shores of joy