Page:Oriental Sketches Dramatic Sketches and Tales.pdf/209

Rh

My father's sins are visited on me, And I am doomed— Tears, bitter, passionate tears, Are all I have to give; my tortured heart Will not suggest one soothing word. Is 't true That I stand by thee, hold thee in my arms, Without the power to whisper peace; that we Are both alive, both love, and both despair? Live for thy child, Helena; live to pray For one who dares not mock the throne of heaven With impious hopes. My life is waning fast, My spirit sinks beneath the fearful weight, The burthen of my sin. But yestermorn I would have boldly dared the living world, All evil spirits, the dark enemy Of fallen man, to tempt me from the height, The proud, the virtuous height on which I stood. What am I now? A wretch, my fellow-men,