So his rough foot hath bruised the dewy grass,
And left it sere. Why should his harsh words touch me?
The truth of yesterday is false to-day.
How could I know, dear God ! How might I guess
The bitter sweetness, the delicious pain!
A new heart fills my breast, as soft and weak
And melting as a tear, unto its lord;
But kindled with quick courage to endure,
If I need front for him, a world of foes.
If this be love, ah, what a hell is theirs
Who suffer without hope ! Even I, who hold
So many dear assurances, who hear
Still ringing in mine ears such sacred vows,
Am haunted with an unaccustomed doubt,
Not wonted to go hand-in-hand with joy.
A gloomy omen greets me with the morn;
I, who recoil from pain, must strike and wound.
What may this mean ? Help me, ye saints of heaven
And holy mother, for my strength is naught!
She falls on her Knees and bursts into tears. Reenter Lorenzo
LORENZO (aside).
Thank heaven, I came. How have I wrung her soul!
A noble love, forsooth ! A blind, brute passion,
That being denied, is swift transformed to hate
No whit more cruel. (To Maria.) Lady!
