Page:The Family Legend.pdf/156

142

It is enough, brave Lorne; this wound is death: And better deed thou couldst not do upon me, Than rid me of a life disgraced and wretched. But guilty though I be, thou see'st full well, That to the brave opposed, arms in hand, I am no coward.Oh! could I as bravely, In home-rais'd broils, with violent men have strove, It had been well: but there, alas! I proved A poor, irresolute, and nerveless wretch. (After a pause, and struggling for breath.) To live, alas! in good men's memories Detested and contemn'd:—to be with her For whom I thought to beCome, gloomy grave! Thou cover'st all! Pardon of man I ask not, And merit not.—Brave Lorne, I ask it not; Though in thy piteous eye a look I see That might embolden me.There is above One who doth know the weakness of our nature,— Our thoughts and conflicts:—all that e'er have breathed;