Search through yon forest for my broken vow,
There 'tis recorded. Oh, I have given thee
My soul—my soul—my love hath been a flame,
Devouring, quenchless; and the life of one
Who sought to part us, wildly sacrificed—
A murderer stands before thee! She is dead—
My wife, Rosmunda! and a stainless name
Is thine, thy child legitimized: for thee
I've plunged in crime—have sold myself to hell!
Do I not love thee? dost believe it now?
Helena.
Thy looks, thy words are wild; but oh, that deed—
Intensity of sorrow tells the tale
Thy lips have only glanced at. She is dead—
And I the fatal cause! Do not hate me—
Do not desert me: prayer and penitence
Shall win forgiveness for thee: we will seek,
Two weeping pilgrims, for each holy shrine;
Nor rest, nor taste of comfort, till we feel
That we are pardoned.
