Phantoms, begone! Here was his spring-tide come,
And his Bride with him, out of Hades, home!
Sudden, an avalanche—compound—Earth, Hell—
Long chained—irresistible passion—fell,
Defying thought, fear! his hand left the string
But just caressed; his throat forbore to sing—
That he might clasp and kiss;—one look behind!
A world of travail scattered to the wind!
Heav’n forgives seven sins if love the cause;
The plea doubles guilt when Hell’s the brok’n laws.