Britain ... - Blue-Lite

Scene II.] THE VARANGIAN. 389
May the fierce anger of the King appease,
And be my blood the balm to heal thy wounds,
My woe-devoted country !
JUDITH.
Alas ! my
WALTHEOF.
lord
Were there no stronger ties, mere life might be
Cast off without a sigh, like a poor garment
Which time hath worn so frail, it will not keep
The flaws of winter out ;
For O, how few and brief the sunny gleams,
'Twixt infancy and miserable age,
Which, through life's ever-rising tempests, shed
Joy on the soul ! Farewell, my dearest wife !
To part with thee is now the deepest pang
This heart on earth can feel.
JUDITH.
Adieu, my
lord !
Thy duty
The stroke of death, and mine to humbly bow
With silent resignation.
WALTHEOF.
Resigned
'tis with fortitude to meet
indeed !
That
thou art
Ay, calmness on thy brow
Falls like the chilling snow of winter clouds
On life's last sunset hour. Mournful it is
To say farewell for ever, even to scenes
And things that we have looked on carelessly,
In days when thoughts of parting came not o'er us;
But O, how bitter for those hearts whom Love
Hath bound in rosy bands to bid adieu,
When, by a sudden and a bloody death,
They are asunder torn ! And yet, whilst fast