XXXVIII.

“Oh, lily torn and crushed,” he said, “thou art gone! Mine--mine--though Fate had given thee to another. Let cold, weak hearts condemn the love whose dawn Was ere the altar bound thee to a brother. I sought that world-condemnéd love to smother-- As well might stifle a volcano, bind The ocean-wave, or bid the yearning mother Curse her first-born. The cloister more enshrined Thy image--Solitude the gold but more refined!