Page:The poetical works of Thomas Campbell.djvu/72
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Her reason went, but came returning, likeThe warning of her death-hour—soon to strike;And all for which she now, poor sufferer! sighs,Is once to see Theodric ere she dies.Why should I come to tell you this caprice?Forgive me! for my mind has lost its peace.I blame myself, and ne'er shall cease to blame,That my insane ambition for the nameOf brother to Theodric, founded allThose high-built hopes that crush'd her by their fall.I made her slight her mother's counsel sage,But now my parents droop with grief and age:And, though my sister's eyes mean no rebuke,They overwhelm me with their dying look.The journey's long, but you are full of ruth;And she who shares your heart, and knows its truth,Has faith in your affection, far aboveThe fear of a poor dying object's love.'—'She has, my Udolph,' he replied, ''tis true;And oft we talk of Julia—oft of you.'Their converse came abruptly to a closeFor scarce could each his troubled looks compose.When visitants, to Constance near akin,(In all but traits of soul.) were usher'd in.They brought not her, nor midst their kindred bandThe sister who alone, like her, was bland;But said—and smiled to see it gave him pain—That Constance would a fortnight yet remain.Vex'd by their tidings, and the haughty viewThey cast on Udolph as the youth withdrew,Theodric blamed his Constance's intent.—The demons went, and left him as they went