‘At first,’ he said, ‘as Julia bade me tell,
She bore her fate high-mindedly and well,
Resolved from common eyes her grief to hide,
And from the world’s compassion saved our pride;
But still her health gave way to secret woe,
And long she pined—for broken hearts die slow!
Her reason went, but came returning, like
The warning of her death-hour—soon to strike;
And all for which she now, poor sufferer! sighs,
Is once to see Theodric ere she dies.