mesmerism.
121
XXVII.
"For aye divorced from thee. Speak not; one word
Would wake her—and she dies.
One word from thee would pierce—a sword;
Yet make the sacrifice
If thou wouldst win her!—Death will free,
And Death alone, her bond to me."
Would wake her—and she dies.
One word from thee would pierce—a sword;
Yet make the sacrifice
If thou wouldst win her!—Death will free,
And Death alone, her bond to me."
XXVIII.
"Awake!" My voice like the last trumpet pealed.
She started wild, and dim,
She looked around, and all was then revealed.
She turned from me to him.
All, all, in that one look she read.
One sob—Who said that she was dead?
She started wild, and dim,
She looked around, and all was then revealed.
She turned from me to him.
All, all, in that one look she read.
One sob—Who said that she was dead?
XXIX.
Yes! dead. The ermine lives not when its robe
Receives some soiling stain;
And poison breaks clear glass. I dare not probe
The madness of that pain.
I raised her in my arms, I bore
Her home with frantic speed—no more!
Receives some soiling stain;
And poison breaks clear glass. I dare not probe
The madness of that pain.
I raised her in my arms, I bore
Her home with frantic speed—no more!
