Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/207

Rh

Search through yon forest for my broken vow, There 'tis recorded. Oh, I have given thee My soul—my soul—my love hath been a flame, Devouring, quenchless; and the life of one Who sought to part us, wildly sacrificed— A murderer stands before thee! She is dead— My wife, Rosmunda! and a stainless name Is thine, thy child legitimized: for thee I've plunged in crime—have sold myself to hell! Do I not love thee? dost believe it now? Thy looks, thy words are wild; but oh, that deed— Intensity of sorrow tells the tale Thy lips have only glanced at. She is dead— And I the fatal cause! Do not hate me— Do not desert me: prayer and penitence Shall win forgiveness for thee: we will seek, Two weeping pilgrims, for each holy shrine; Nor rest, nor taste of comfort, till we feel That we are pardoned.