 | The Lady of La Garaye |  |
The heart grows humble in an awe-struck grief;
Claud thinks not, dreams not, plans not her relief.
Strengthen him but, oh, God! to reach the place,
And let him look upon her dying face!
Let him but say farewell! farewell, sweet love!
And once more hear her speak, and see her move,—
And ask her if she suffers where she lies,—
And kiss the lids down on her closing eyes,—
And he will be content.
Claud thinks not, dreams not, plans not her relief.
Strengthen him but, oh, God! to reach the place,
And let him look upon her dying face!
Let him but say farewell! farewell, sweet love!
And once more hear her speak, and see her move,—
And ask her if she suffers where she lies,—
And kiss the lids down on her closing eyes,—
And he will be content.
He climbs and strives:
The strength is in his heart of twenty lives;
Across the leaf-strewn gaps he madly springs;
From branch to branch like some wild ape he swings;
Breasts, with hot effort, that cold rushing source
Of death and danger. With a giant's force
His bleeding hands and broken nails have clung
Round the gnarled slippery roots above him hung,
And now he's near,—he sees her through the leaves;
But a new horrid fear his mind receives:
The steed! his hoofs may crush that angel head!
No, Claud,—her favourite is already dead,
One shivering gasp thro' limbs that now stretch out like lead.
The strength is in his heart of twenty lives;
Across the leaf-strewn gaps he madly springs;
From branch to branch like some wild ape he swings;
Breasts, with hot effort, that cold rushing source
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His bleeding hands and broken nails have clung
Round the gnarled slippery roots above him hung,
And now he's near,—he sees her through the leaves;
But a new horrid fear his mind receives:
The steed! his hoofs may crush that angel head!
No, Claud,—her favourite is already dead,
One shivering gasp thro' limbs that now stretch out like lead.
| The Lady of La Garaye | |