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And Constance then is safe!—Heaven bless thee, father; Good angels bear such comfort.

I have found A safe asylum for thine honour'd love, Where she may dwell until serener days, With Saint Rosolia's gentlest daughters; those Whose hallow'd office is to tend the bed Of pain and death, and soothe the parting soul With their soft hymns: and therefore are they call'd "Sisters of Mercy."

Oh! that name, my Constance, Befits thee well! E'en in our happiest days, There was a depth of tender pensiveness, Far in thine eyes' dark azure, speaking ever Of pity and mild grief.—Is she at peace?

Alas! what should I say,

Why did I ask? Knowing the deep and full devotedness Of her young heart's affections?—Oh! the thought Of my untimely fate will haunt her dreams, Which should have been so tranquil!—And her soul, Whose strength was but the lofty gift of love, Even unto death will sicken.

All that faith Can yield of comfort, shall assuage her woes;