He is crouching frighten'd--my king and lord!

He whisper'd, and fill'd my heart with dismay,--
Scared by the sounds that used once to rejoice!--
O Harry, my Harry, speak loudly, I pray,
And _not_ in that shocking whispering voice.

He whisper'd, 'I've got in a horrid scrape;
Fetch me some money, and bid me good-bye;
I must run away, and make my escape,'--
'I shall run with you, my darling,' said I.

'You cannot,' he murmur'd;--a speechless love
Shone out of his eyes; he return'd my kiss--
'I never intended--Great Father above,
You _know_ that I never intended this.

Fetch me some money--the desk and the key--
You know them--be quick! or dearly you'll rue--
My life's in your hands!--have mercy on me--
Fetch me some money--It's all you can do.'

A horrible haste in manner and voice,
A desperate hungry imploring haste;
I rush'd up the stairs--I had not a choice,
And I snatch'd the notes from where they were plac'd
All that I had--to the window I rush'd--
With kisses and tears in his hands I laid;
He return'd the kisses, with lips that crush'd
Their vehement kisses on lips dismay'd.