Thanks, sir. But sorrow cannot kill. Would that it could! Nay, I sit by his side-- Thus. Now tell all--all--all.
You cannot hide The deadly faintness that has paled your cheek; Let me get--
Nothing. Nothing can avail, Good sir; my very heart’s blood has turned pale. Struck by God’s lightning, do you talk to me Of faintness? Only tell your tale--speak, speak; You saw him die?
I did; right tranquilly He passed away this morning, with your name Upon his lips--for you are Helena?
I saw your picture. (_Aside._) Yes, the same. Hair, eyes. What Titian tints! (_Speaks._) He made me lay Your letters and your picture on his heart Before he died; he would not from them part For e’en one moment.
Lift them not, they’re mine; My hand alone must touch the holy shrine Of love and death where the poor relics lie-- Darling (_bends, and kisses the letters_), because you loved them! Let them die, Go to the grave with him, there on his breast, Where I would gladly die too--be at rest Forever.--And he spake of me?
He said That you would come, for he had sent you word.
I ne’er received it; ’twas by chance I heard, A passing chance.
And may They never rise again that failed that day, And left him dying here! Go on; he said--
That you would come, and grieved that o’er his head The turf might close ere you could reach his side And give him one last kiss. And then--he died.
No more. Ah, yes, one other thing: Short time before, he feebly bade me bring That package on the table--but ’tis torn-- Some one has opened it! It looked well worn, In old, unbroken foldings when I brought It from his satchel. Who could thus have wrought On other’s property?
To give it you, for you would know Its history, and where it swift should go; The name was writ within.
Yes, love; amen! Be it according to thy wish. (_Speaks._) Pray take This fee, good sir. I would that for his sake-- Your kindness to him--I could send your name Ringing through all the West in silver fame.-- At dawn, you said, the burial? Then leave Me here alone with him. I well believe You’ll show me further kindness. Speak no word Beyond your doctor’s art to that poor child Who weeps below. I would not that she heard Aught more of grief. [_Exit_ SURGEON. Ah! all my passion wild Has gone; now come the softening woman tears.-- Forgive me, great Creator, that I spake In my sharp agony. O do thou take The bitterness from out my soul; I know Naught, but thou knowest all! Then let my woe, The poor blind woe we short-lived mortals bear, Be my sad plea.-- I knew, through my despair, You loved me to the last. Death had no fears For you, my love; you met him with my name, As talisman of the undying flame That leaps o’er the black chasm of the grave And mounts to heaven. But I will not rave, When you died softly.