LXIII.

Joy for thee, trembler!--thou redeem’d one, joy! Young dove set free!--earth, ashes, soulless clay, Remain’d for baffled vengeance to destroy. _Thy_ chain was riven! Nor hadst thou cast away Thy hope in thy last hour!--though love was there Striving to wring thy troubled soul from prayer, And life seem’d robed in beautiful array, Too fair to leave!--but this might be forgiven, Thou wert so richly crown’d with precious gifts of heaven!