In the last dying agony !
"Transports of love and pleasure pass
Swiftly as doth spring's fleeting breath ;
But hate and pain and woe, alas !
Are faithful even unto death."
Thus sighing, sudden doth ho shrink
To hear a voice complaining cry,
"I thirst, O Axel ! give me drink !
Receive my farewell ere I die !"
Those tones familiar ! at the sound,
He clears the steep height with a bound.
Lo ! leaning 'gainst the rock, there stood
A stranger, wounded, bathed in blood.
Forth from a cloud the moon's bright glance
Fell on that pallid countenance ;
With a wild shriek of horror, he
Cries shudderingly, "O God ! 'tis she !"
'Twas she indeed ! Her wounds' deep smart
Hiding, her whisper faintly fell ;
"Oh, welcome, Axel ! — No, farewell !