13.

How like the beauteous awfulness
That moulders into clay,
And humbles man's hard-heartedness
With its sublime decay,
Upon her couch of death she lay!
Nor limb, nor feature stirr'd.
But when lord Konig's foot she heard,
Like one arising from the dead,
She started, she lean'd up in bed;
(Oh, Love is strong!) she rose to greet him;
(Oh, Love is strength!) she went to meet him;
She met him — met his dear embrace;
And in his bosom hid her face.

14.

They seated them upon a stone,
Wash'd by the rains of ages gone,
And bleach'd by every blast that blew;
With forests brown, and Konig's town,
And the lake's mirror, all in view;
(She leaning fondly on his knee,
He weeping o'er her tenderly;)
And talk'd to sleep each little leaf;
And talk'd the sun down to the west;
Nor saw him veil his head in grief,
And sadden into golden rest.
Death, all-shunn'd death, she knew, was nigh,
Yet felt as if she could not die.
But when, at length, the parting hour
Gloom'd dimly on the dying flower,
Then Konig trembled — and she smil'd!
Giving to him the willing child.
" Kiss me! " (she said, scarce audibly,
While, sick with parting's agony,
He felt as if they could not part,)
" Kiss me! and go. I die content.
Love our poor Adwick — he loves me:
Farewell! " He wept, as if his heart
Was made of tears — and went.
She watch'd them o'er the lake;
She saw him leap to land,
Place on the shore the child, and take
Its little offer'd hand;
Then, shuddering as she turn'd her head,
Sank at the feet of Adwick — dead.