And all is over. Street and square In ruined heaps are piled; Ah! where is she, so frail, so fair, Amid the tumult wild? Unscathed, she treads the wreck-piled street, Whose narrow gaps afford A pathway for her bleeding feet, To seek her absent lord. A temple's broken walls arrest The power that living hearts obey Love led her footsteps where he lay, One cry, the marble shaft she grasps, - He breathes, her fainting form he clasps, - Her life has bought his own! PART FIFTH. THE REWARD. How like the starless night of death Our being's brief eclipse, When faltering heart and failing breath Have bleached the fading lips! She lives! What guerdon shall repay One word can charm all wrongs away,— The sacred name of WIFE! The love that won her girlish charms And write beneath the Frankland arms Go, call the priest ! no vain delay Shall dim the sacred ring! Who knows what change the passing day The fleeting hour, may bring? Before the holy altar bent, There kneels a goodly pair; A stately man, of high descent, A woman, passing fair. No jewels lend the blinding sheen A string of golden beads. The vow is spoke, — the prayer is said, And with a gentle pride The Lady Agnes lifts her head, Sir Harry Frankland's bride. No more her faithful heart shall bear No more the blue-eyed English dames The poor New-England girl. But stay! his mother's haughty brow, The pride of ancient race, Will plighted faith, and holy vow, Win back her fond embrace? Too well she knew the saddening tale That turned his blushing honors pale His own dear Agnes may not pass He stood before the stately dame; She breathed no single word. He told his love, her faith betrayed; - She heard with tearless eyes; Could she forgive the erring maid? She stared in cold surprise. How fond her heart, he told, —how true; The haughty eyelids fell; The kindly deeds she loved to do; She murmured, "It is well." But when he told that fearful day, And how she bruised her tender breasts Against the crushing stone, That still the strong-armed clown protests No man can lift alone, – O then the frozen spring was broke; By turns she wept and smiled; "Sweet Agnes!" so the mother spoke, "God bless my angel child! "She saved thee from the jaws of death, "T is thine to right her wrongs; I tell thee,— I, who gave thee breath, – To her thy life belongs!" |