Page:Miscellaneous Plays 1.pdf/145

Rh

I'll grasp at hope, and will not let it go. (Bending over the couch.) My son! my son! hear'st thou my voice, my son?

Yes, mother: I have had a fearful struggle. 'Tis a strong enemy that grapples with me, And I must yield to him.—O pious father! Pray thou for mercy on me.

Yes, my son, This holy man shall pray for thee; the shrines Of holiest saints be gifted for thee; masses And sacred hymns be chanted for thy peace:— And thou thyself, even 'midst thine agony, Had spoken precious words of heav'nly grace; Therefore be comforted.

There is no comfort here: dark, veil'd, and terrible, That which abides me; and how short a space

O thou may'st yet recover!

Lady, forbear! this is no time to soothe With flatt'ring hopes: his term is near its close; Therefore, I do again entreat it of you, Send off the messengcr with his confession,