“On every Sabbath-eve I wrote Pauline. 
Page after page was burdened with my love,
My glowing hopes of golden days to come,
And frequent boast of rapid progress made. 
With hungry heart and eager I devoured
Her letters; I re-read them twenty times. 
At morning when I laid the Gospel down
I read her latest answer, and again
At midnight by my lamp I read it over,
And murmuring ‘God bless her,’ fell asleep
To dream that I was with her under the pines.

“Thus fled four years—­four years of patient toil
Sweetened with love and hope, and I had made
Swift progress in my studies.  Master said
Another year would bring me to the bar—­
No fledgeling but full-feathered for the field. 
And then her letters ceased.  I wrote and wrote
Again, but still no answer.  Day after day
The tardy mail-coach lagged a mortal hour,
While I sat listening for its welcome horn;
And when it came I hastened from my books
With hope and fear contending in my soul. 
Day after day—­no answer—­back again
I turned my footsteps with a weary sigh. 
It wore upon me and I could not rest;
It gnawed me to the marrow of my bones. 
The heavy tomes grew dull and wearisome,
And sometimes hateful;—­then I broke away
As from a prison and rushed wildly out
Among the elms along the river-bank—­
Baring my burning temples to the breeze—­
And drank the air of heaven like sparkling wine—­
Conjuring excuses for her;—­was she ill? 
Perhaps forbidden.  Had another heart
Come in between us?—­No, that could not be;
She was all constancy and promise-bound. 
A month, which seemed to me a laggard year,
Thus wore away.  At last a letter came. 
O with what springing step I hurried back—­
Back to my private chamber and my desk! 
With what delight—­what eager, trembling hand—­
The well-known seal that held my hopes I broke! 
Thus ran the letter: 

“’Paul, the time has come
When we must both forgive while we forget. 
Mine was a girlish fancy.  We outgrow
Such childish follies in our later years. 
Now I have pondered well and made an end. 
I cannot wed myself to want, and curse
My life life-long, because a girlish freak
Of folly made a promise.  So—­farewell.’

“My eyes were blind with passion as I read. 
I tore the letter into bits and stamped
Upon them, ground my teeth and cursed the day
I met her, to be jilted.  All that night
My thoughts ran riot.  Round the room I strode
A raving madman—­savage as a Sioux;
Then flung myself upon my couch in tears,
And wept in silence, and then stormed again.
’Beggar!’—­it raised the serpent in my breast—­
Mad pride—­bat-blind.  I seized her pictured face
And ground it under my heel.  With impious hand
I caught the book—­the precious gift she gave,
And would have burned it, but that still small voice
Spake in my heart and bade me spare the book.