Travis.
Oh! must the glorious dawn of Liberty,
Oh! must the day, that oped my prison-door
Consign thy life to night? It cannot be!
Elsie.
Yes, it is night, that henceforth will enshroud
My soul and heart, but mind thee! not the night
Of bleak despair, of crying agony;
No, that of holy sadness which becomes,
The more it grows, the dearer to the heart.
For from afar the radiance of thy course
Will cast a sweet reflection on my path,
Not too resplendent as to jar by contrast,
And not too feeble as to fail in comfort.
So will my life be henceforth like a chapel.
Among whose sombre aisles and colonnades
The sunlight, falling through the colored panes.
Pours out a mellow-tinted "clarobscuro,"
The sweetest light, 'neath which to dream and pray.
Travis.
Oh, happy talent of the female heart,
Whose heavenly instinct knows how to detect
Some light upon the darkest sky of sorrow,
Some hope amid the wildest sea of woe.
Oh, give me but an atom of that balm.
Thy childlike faith, and I will part in peace.
