with many a tear,
    Would seem a gain, and, knew you my delight
    Boundless and pure, your joyful praise excite.” 
    Thus spoke she, and on heaven her grateful eye
    Devoutly fix’d, but while her rose-lips lie
    Chain’d in cold silence, I renew’d my theme: 
    “Lightning and storm, red battle, age, disease,
    Backs, prisons, poison, famine,—­make not these
    Death, even to the bravest, bitter seem?”
    She answer’d:  “I deny not that the strife
    Is great and sore which waits on parting life,
    And then of death eternal the sharp dread! 
    But if the soul with hope from heaven be fed,
    And haply in itself the heart have grief,
    What then is death?  Its brief sigh brings relief: 
    Already I approach’d my final goal,
    My strength was failing, on the wing my soul,
    When thus a low sad-whisper by my side,
    ’O miserable! who, to vain life tied,
    Counts every hour and deems each hour a day,
    By land or ocean, to himself a prey,
    Where’er he wanders, who one form pursues,
    Indulges one desire, one dream renews,
    Thought, speech, sense, feeling, there for ever bound!’
    It ceased, and to the spot whence came the sound
    I turn’d my languid eyes, and her beheld,
    Your love who check’d, my pity who impell’d;
    I recognised her by that voice and air,
    So often which had chased my spirit’s gloom,
    Now calm and wise, as courteous then and fail. 
    But e’en to you when dearest, in the bloom
    Of joyous youth and beauty’s rosy prime. 
    Theme of much thought, and muse of many a rhyme,
    Believe me, life to me was far less sweet
    Than thus a merciful mild death to meet,
    The blessed hope, to mortals rarely given: 
    And such joy smooth’d my path from earth to heaven,
    As from long exile to sweet home I turn’d,
    While but for you alone my soul with pity yearn’d.” 
    “But tell me, lady,” said I, “by that true
    And loyal faith, on earth well known to you
    Now better known before the Omniscient’s face,
    If in your breast the thought e’er found a place
    Love prompted, my long martyrdom to cheer,
    Though virtue follow’d still her fair emprize. 
    For ah! oft written in those sweetest eyes,
    Dear anger, dear disdain, and pardon dear,
    Long o’er my wishes doubts and shadows cast.” 
    Scarce from my lips the venturous speech had pass’d,
    When o’er her fair face its old sun-smile beam’d,
    My sinking virtue which so oft redeem’d,
    And with a tender sigh she answer’d:  “Never
    Can or did aught from you my firm heart sever: 
    But as, to our young fame, no other way,
    Direct and plain, of mutual safety lay,
    I temper’d with cold looks your raging flame: 
    So fondest mothers wayward children tame. 
    How often have I said, ’It