Nestled within her heart; and, when she waked,
She only yearned for that dim, cloistral calm,
Embosomed deep in some bough-sheltered vale,
Whither the boat must bear her.
In his cell,
As night paled slowly to the seventh morn,
Oswald arose--the fire within his eyes
Yet more intense, more fierce. With eager hand
He clutched the latch, and, flinging wide the door,
He strode into the dawn. One moment, dazed,