University of Virginia Library

XXXI.

Hath that miraculous Spring of Life
With good to Agilnoth been rife?
Him Edwy tended well, and strange
And wonderous was the sudden change.
His introverted eye, returned
To outward things, less fiercely burned,
Less haggard-wild, and soon became
More gentle, and serened its flame—
The tears 'gan flow with copious tide,
Which had before their aid denied—
The draught but eased his agonies,
The subtle thought that bade them rise
It could not quench—the heart—the heart
Still bore, as it had borne, its part!
For 'twas not Lethe which he drank;—
That stream is not of Heaven and Love!
Hell is its dull and proper bank,
And none would seek its power to prove
Save they whose torture strives to slake
The worm that now will never die;
Though long it slept on earth—to wake
More dreadful in eternity.
Oh! who, in the rapt height of joy,
With fear of change reproved,
Could bear to think aught might destroy
The thought of her he loved?
Who in the depth of wretchedness
That image of his soul would quit,
So he from memory might rase,
The mournful traits which blend with it?
And well I ween, that Agilnoth
Would not exchange his pensive thought
For all the calm that deadened wrath,
And deadened vengeance might have brought!
Oh! how could he forget his love,
And leave her in that Robber's power,
Senseless of all her wrongs to prove,
As he had never breathed the flower?
That thought had been To him more keen
Than the fiercest pang of his agony!
Nor Edwy sad For that had paid
This tribute to St. Loy.