He, for his selfish pride to cause thee pain;
He, for his littleness of mind to lay
Thee low in sickness; God grant he may gain
His due reward. And may the Lord repay
The haughty baronet, in full degree,
For all the wrong that he has rendered thee!
LIII.
But now thou art recovered, now thy heart
Alone is sick. Ah Love! thou mournest too,
No less than I, that we must live apart.
'Tis selfish, yet I thus would have thee do;
I would not have thee happy while away
From me, sweetheart, thy love would else decay.
LIV.
And did'st thou think thy father would relent
Because thine illness threatened thee? Ah! no,
His stubborn pride would still remain unbent
Though thou at Death's dark portal layedst low.
His pride is greater than his love for thee,
And greater even than his hate for me.
We may not be united, loved one—Nay,
What writest thou? Ah Love! Love! is it true?
It cannot be that thou art mine to-day,
And wast before, the while I never knew.
Oh God! my God hear Thou thy servant's cry,
And let his thankful praise ascend on high.
LVI.
Mine eyes are dim—Nay, tears? It cannot be;
I am a man, and am not wont to weep.
Yet beats my happy heart so joyfully
The quick revulsion causes me to steep
Mine eyes in tears. Though Grief could not compel
These tears to flow, Joy bade them, and they fell.