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Or any sense, the song which rang through
heaven A sweeter song than that which celebrates A sinner's penitence—when our two souls Knelt down together in our Father's house, To which his call had brought us, and received His infinite sanction? Did He not require And charge us both, as we would not be shamed In our own day of judgment, to confess If there were any just impediment To keep our souls asunder? Did He not Then join our hands, and call us only one ? O mother, you did hear it! for I saw, When oft you looked at us, your eyes all filled With tears which are the outward witnesses Of the soul's recent sojourn, on its day Of rest, among the glories of that world In which our love is known, and looked upon As something to assure us, when we come To enter it more fully, of a right
To stand far nearer to the central Throne
This, then, explains our secrecy. I fain Had told you of our marriage ere it came To be a thing not spoken of, but done; But feared lest in that strained perplexity Which just as often comes before an act As after action it is smoothed away, Some pain which was not needed might be brought
To you, to Gertrude, most of all to him
Some pain for me, who rather, as you know,
I am not In mood to write much further ; we shall go, Sped by your blessing, mother, to the south Of Europe, (where, I know not yet,) and thence Onward to Rome; but you shall hear in time. I feel your blessing round me; if your doubt At times should lead you faintly to despond, Read then this letter,-think what I have been,Your own loved daughter, pure in God's own sight, And seeking still to purify myself By that communion which the soul alone That much has tried it, estimates aright.
Kiss Gertrude for me, mother, tell her all ;
EUCHARIS TO GERTRUDE.
San Remo : Oct, 2, 18-2. Shame, say you, sister, shame? O would that I Felt half the shame for what you glory in As you for my transgression ! Yet not this Shall now possess me; I would fain be kind Even to you, who, most unwittingly, (For are you not my sister ?) have been doomed To wound me deeper than all blame could wound From other lips. 'Tis not the name you give To my adventure, let me call it so, For I was well forewarned that all the world Would thus regard it wrongly,—no, not this ; But these imputed motives Tell me now What in the old times have you seen in me,