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From its keen soulless air, and in thy heart, Found ever the sweet fountain of response, To quench my thirst for home! The dear work grows Beneath my hand,—the last!

Teresa, (falling on his neck in tears.) Eugene, Eugene! Break not my heart with thine excess of love!— Oh! must I lose thee—thou that hast been still The tenderest—best—

Eugene. Weep, weep not thus, belov'd! Let my true heart o'er thine retain its power Of soothing to the last!—Mine own Teresa! Take strength from strong affection!—Let our souls, Ere this brief parting, mingle in one strain Of deep, full thanksgiving, for God's rich boon— Our perfect love!—Oh ! blessed have we been In that high gift! Thousands o'er earth may pass With hearts unfreshen'd by the heavenly dew,