and hope, and I had made
Swift progress in my studies. Master said
Another year would bring me to the bar--
No fledgeling but full-feathered for the field.
And then her letters ceased. I wrote and wrote
Again, but still no answer. Day after day
The tardy mail-coach lagged a mortal hour,
While I sat listening for its welcome horn;
And when it came I hastened from my books
With hope and fear contending in my soul.
Day after day--no answer--back again
I turned my footsteps with a weary sigh.
It wore upon me and I could not rest;
It gnawed me to the marrow of my bones.
The heavy tomes grew dull and wearisome,
And sometimes hateful;--then I broke away
As from a prison and rushed wildly out
Among the elms along the river-bank--
Baring my burning temples to the breeze--
And drank the air of heaven like sparkling wine--
Conjuring excuses for her;--was she ill?
Perhaps forbidden. Had another heart
Come in between us?--No, that could not be;
She was all constancy and promise-bound.
A month, which seemed to me a laggard year,
Thus wore away. At last a letter came.
O with what springing step I hurried back--
Back to my private chamber and my desk!
With what delight--what eager, trembling hand--
The well-known seal that held my hopes I broke!
Thus ran the letter:

"'Paul, the time has come
When we must both forgive while we forget.
Mine was a girlish fancy. We outgrow
Such childish follies in our later years.
Now I have pondered well and made an end.
I cannot wed myself to want, and curse
My life life-long, because a girlish freak
Of folly made a promise. So--farewell.'

"My eyes were blind with passion as I read.
I tore the letter into bits and stamped
Upon them, ground my teeth and cursed the day
I met her, to be jilted. All that night
My thoughts ran riot. Round the room I strode
A raving madman--savage as a Sioux;
Then flung myself upon my couch in tears,
And wept in silence, and then stormed again.
'_Beggar!_'--it raised the serpent in my breast--
Mad pride--bat-blind. I seized her pictured face
And ground it under my heel. With impious hand
I caught the book--the precious gift she gave,
And would have burned it, but that still small voice
Spake in my heart and bade me spare the book.

"Then with this Gospel clutched in both my hands,
I swore a solemn oath that I would rise,
If God would spare me;--she should see me rise,
And learn what she had lost.--Yes, I would mount
Merely to be re