That I had heart still for another fear
In such a safe despair, I left the thing.
‘The rest is short. I was obedient:
I wrote my letter which delivered him
From Marian to his own prosperities,
And followed that bad guide. The lady?—hush,—
I never blame the lady. Ladies who
Sit high, however willing to look down,
Will scarce see lower than their dainty feet;
And Lady Waldemar saw less than I
With what a Devil’s daughter I went forth
The swine’s road, headlong over a precipice,
In such a curl of hell-foam caught and choked,
No shriek of soul in anguish could pierce through
To fetch some help. They say there’s help in heaven
For all such cries. But if one cries from hell. .
What then?—the heavens are deaf upon that side.
A woman . . hear me,—let me make it plain,—
A woman . . not a monster . . both her breasts
Made right to suckle babes . . she took me off,
A woman also, young and ignorant,
And heavy with my grief, my two poor eyes
Near washed away with weeping, till the trees,
The blessed unaccustomed trees and fields,
Ran either side the train like stranger dogs
Unworthy of any notice,—took me off,
So dull, so blind, and only half alive,
Not seeing by what road, nor by what ship,
