"O God!" he said, "forget my vow, my vow of sinful wrath,
When mad with pain and stinging pride I swore to be a king;
Oh! save my child—my angel child—the starlight of my path,
And take for sacrifice all else to which my passions cling.
"O Heaven!" he cried, "take not again my heart's most sacred treasure;
Thou hast my youth's dear idol now among thy angel throng;
Forgive me, Heaven, if in her child I've had too proud a pleasure,
And leave me yet a little while this love than death more strong."
But ah! the reed was broken, and the soul that leaned upon it
Fell and rose not, but lay stricken by an infinite despair;
And the tomb of Crozat's daughter bears the simple story on it
Of two hearts—both by love broken—child's and parent's, mouldering there!
KEATS.
The tall arched windows were flung open wide
To the cool night breeze. Not a shadow hung
Between the world without and he within—
It would have stifled him, his soul so gasped
And struggled for more breath—for room to be!
And with uneven steps treading in haste
Across the floor with moonlight carpeted,
He flung his arms out wildly, as if he
Would part the air pressing too hard around,
As if even space were palpable to him,
And weighed upon his spirit with a might
That crushed his soul like iron. All the while
The big drops of his anguish stood out thick
Upon his pale, broad forehead; and his lips
