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At last the gentle lapse of time
Quietly stealing,
Brought to his over-passion'd heart
Some human feeling.
The cruel worm of conscience gnaw'd
His breast within;
And John's dim shadow seated there,
Recall'd the sin!
"My John! my John!" he often cried,
"Thou innocent!
Thou, by the madness of thy lord,
From life uprent:
O bend thy head from highest heaven,
If there though live,
And pitying him who pitied not—
My crime forgive."
At length he rear'd a little church,
To wash his guilt;
And near, a belfry tower of wood,
Repentant built.
