That by her side, I may, in death,
My crime with her conceal.
‘It is not, torn with inward strife,
My wish to linger on,
And live, when she, the very life
Of all my hopes, is gone.’
Then fell his tears; his hands were clasped,
And moanings of despair
Burst from his heart, his blade he grasped
To still the conflict there.