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Sapp'd is all my strength of will.
Oh, but better shall ensue!
Once these days are overworn,
Thou shalt never see me mourn!
Brand.
Keep'st thou so God's <g>holy</g> Night?
Agnes.
Ah! Too much thou must not crave!
Think—last year so sweet and bright,
This year carried from my sight;
Carried—carried
Brand
[Loudly.]
To the grave.
Agnes.
[Shrieks.]
Name it not!
Brand.
With lungs that crack,
Named it must be, if thou shrink—
Named, till echo rolls it back,
Like a billow from the brink.
Agnes.
Ah! The word gives thee, too, pain.
How-so passionless thou boast thee!
On thy brow I see the stain
Of the agony it cost thee!
Brand.
On my brow the drops that lie
Are but sea-spray from the storm.
