And Albert—Albert—falls! the dear old father bleeds!
XXVIII.
And tranced in giddy horror Gertrude swooned;
Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone,
Say, burst they, borrowed from her father’s wound,
These drops?—Oh, God! the life-blood is her own!
And faltering, on her Waldegrave’s bosom thrown—
“Weep not, O Love!” she cries, “to see me bleed—
Thee, Gertrude’s sad survivor, thee alone
Heaven’s peace commiserate; for scarce I heed