Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/71

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"Soon be that work perform'd!" the Maid exclaimed,"O Madelon! O Theodore! my soul,Spurning the cold communion of the world,Will dwell with you! but I shall patiently,Yea even with joy, endure the allotted illsOf which the memory in this better stateShall heighten bliss. That hour of agony,When, Madelon, I felt thy dying grasp,And from thy forehead wiped the dews of death,The very horrors of that hour assumeA shape that now delights.""O earliest friend!I too remember," Madelon replied,"That hour, thy looks of watchful agony,The suppressed grief that struggled in thine eyeEndearing love's last kindness. Thou didst knowWith what a deep and melancholy joyI felt the hour draw on: but who can speakThe unutterable transport, when mine eyes,As from a long and dreary dream, unclosed
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