She still was living when the page set out
From home, but whether now was left in doubt.
Poor Julia! saw he then thy death’s relief—
Stunned into stupor more than wrung with grief?
It was not strange; for in the human breast
Two master-passions cannot co-exist,
And that alarm which now usurped his brain
Shut out not only peace, but other pain.
’Twas fancying Constance underneath the shroud
That covered Julia made him first weep loud,