. Lucile. ve like a fire, and fade off in the gloomWhich momently put out the world. XXXIV. To his sideMoved the man the boy dreaded yet loved . . Ah ! . . he sighd, The smooth brow, the fair Vargrave face ! and those eyes, All the mothers ! The old things again ! Do not rise. * You suffer, young man t THE , I die. THE DUKE. Not so young THE BOY. So young ? yes ! and yet I have tangled among The frayd warp and woof of this brief life of mine Other lives than my own. Could my death but untwine The vext skein . . but it will not. Yes, Duke, young—so young! And I knew you not ? yet I have
. Lucile. ve like a fire, and fade off in the gloomWhich momently put out the world. XXXIV. To his sideMoved the man the boy dreaded yet loved . . Ah ! . . he sighd, The smooth brow, the fair Vargrave face ! and those eyes, All the mothers ! The old things again ! Do not rise. * You suffer, young man t THE , I die. THE DUKE. Not so young THE BOY. So young ? yes ! and yet I have tangled among The frayd warp and woof of this brief life of mine Other lives than my own. Could my death but untwine The vext skein . . but it will not. Yes, Duke, young—so young! And I knew you not ? yet I have done you a wrong Irreparable ! . . late, too late to repair. If I knew any means . . but I know none ! . . I swear, If this broken fraction of time could extend Into infinite lives of atonement, no end Would seem too remote for my grief (could that be !) To include it! Not too late, however, for me To entreat : is it too late for you to forgive ? THE wrong—my forgiveness— CANTO VI. LUCILE. 25^ THE BOY. Could I live !Such a very few hours left to life, yet I shrink,I falter ! . . Yes, Duke, your forgiveness I thinkShould free my soul hence. Ah ! you could not surmiseThat a boys beating heart, burning thoughts, longing eyesWere following you evermore (heeded not!)While the battle was flowing between us : nor whatEager, dubious footsteps at nightfall oft wentWith the wind and the rain, round and round your blind and wild as the wind and the rain,TJnnoticed as these, weak as these, and as vain !Oh, how obdurate then lookd your tent ! The waste airGrew stern at the gleam which said . . Off ! he is there !I know not what merciful mystery nowBrings you here, whence the man whom you see lying lowOther footsteps (not those !) must soon bear to the death is at hand, and the few words I haveYet to speak, I must speak them at once. Duke, I swear,As I lie here, (Deaths angel too close not to hear!)That I meant not this wrong to you. Du
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1860, bookidl00ucilelytt, bookyear1868
