 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
145
XV.
“Woman! why hangst so on my arm? —“To wildness torturing every charm,
“That stole his love from me — 'twas guilt!
“For which his life-blood must be spilt!
“And thou be pardoned! — off! away!
“I am no mother! — soft! yet stay!
“I know not what it is to pour
“A parent's joy, or anguish sore,
“O'er mine own image, born in fear,
“Through peril brought to vital air —
“Yet, by the rage of love, I ween,
“That rapture must be sweet — and keen
“Must be the agony! —And thou
“Dost more than common torture show —
“Thou art a mother! — be it so —
“Superior power prevents the blow —
“The child be thine — And he shall pine
“To see thee clasp it to thy breast —
“That he is curst — and thou art blest!
| The Legend of St. Loy | |