‘Hate born of Love is blind as he, Little brother!’
(O mother, Mary mother,
Love turned to hate, between hell and heaven!)
‘Oh! he prays you, as his heart would rive, Sister Helen,
To save his dear son's soul alive.’
‘Nay, flame cannot slay it, it shall thrive, Little brother!’
(O mother, Mary mother,
Alas, alas, between hell and heaven!)”
All entreaties are useless, the death-knell sounds, and the riders turn their horses—
“ ‘Ah! what white thing at the door has cross'd, Sister Helen?