XII.

They gazed--the Injurer's face grew pale-- Pale writhe the lips, the murmurs fail, And thrice he strives to speak--in vain! The sun looks blood-red on the main, The boat glides, waning less and less-- No Law lives in the wilderness, Except Revenge--man's first and last! Those wrongs--that wretch--could they forgive? All that could sweeten life was past; Yet, oh, how sweet to live!