Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/144

Rh

Are we not happy, Julian? My heart, Swelled with the fullness of its bliss, beats high: Thou'rt mine—I know thou'rt mine. Thy wedded wife— Oh! as I clasp thee in my arms, I feel Earth hath no purer blessing in its gift.

The early Christian, as he poured his soul Before the holy altar, reared at night Mid silent wildernesses, felt a pang Steal through his breast;—he longed in open day To worship at the shrine. My Isabel, I hold thee next to Heaven. My love, my faith, Disdains concealment: as the martyr died, Acknowledging his God, I too would brave All peril, to proclaim before the world My title to thy love. The hallowed name Of wife springs to my eager lips, mine arms Are stretched to clasp thee, and my fond eyes graze In passionate devotion:—I must check