Page:Moyarra- An Australian Legend in Two Cantos, 1891.djvu/75

 And inly, then, my sick heart bleeds, Reflecting that from me alone The weight of anguish hath not flown; And I could crush each tender plant In the sun's light which seems to pant With rapture of delight, while I Must watch its smiling apathy And recklessness of my distress; Till, like the hunted prey, whose foe Drinks its hot sobs with fell delight No refuge from despair I know. No ray adorns my night. And not the least of pangs that wring Is, that while thus remembering The priceless debt to thy affection due Though still to thee, I am as ever, true, A listless apathy of voice denies To shape the thought which gratitude supplies. And I, repugnant to my crime, remain Enervate in its galling chain."

Not to upbraid thee, did I speak, Moyarra, but with hope to prove (Howe'er against despairing love