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 And bid me not depart, she cried,

My Rudolph; say not so;

This is no time to quit thy side;

Peace—peace—I cannot go.

Hath the world aught for me to fear,

When death is on thy brow?

The world—what means it?—mine is here;

I will not leave thee now!

I have been with thee in thine hour

Of glory and of bliss;

Doubt not its memory's living power,

To strengthen me through this.

And thou, mine honour'd lord and true,

Bear on, bear nobly on;

We have the blessed heaven in view,

Whose rest shall soon be won."

And were not these high words to flow

From woman's breaking heart?

Through all that night of bitterest woe,

She bore her lofty part.

But oh! with such a glazing eye,

With such a curdling cheek,

Love, love, of mortal agony,

Thou only, thon shouldst speak!

The wind rose high, but with it rose

Her voice that he might hear;

Perchance that dark hour brought repose

To happy bosoms here.

While she sat pining with despair,

Beside his tortured form,

And pouring her deep soul in prayer,

Forth on the rushing storm.