Upon her heavy heart and weigh it down.
As shadows fall at night o'er vale and town;
And still and white as some pale form of death
She stands, with folded hands and faint drawn breath.

But suddenly through the silence of the room
The one word "Hilda" pierces through the gloom;
A whispered word, yet see! it makes her start,
And sends the life-blood throbbing to her heart.
she turns--her face is stained with crimson o'er,
It dies and leaves her paler than before.
Oh, life is dark, and hearts are weak and wild!
With one faint cry she sees his longing eyes,
His outstretched arms, and as a tired child,
Unto that last, safe refuge quickly flies.

Then presently her head droops low again,
She draws away--there comes a bitter pain.
"Oh, Adrian, my life has all been wrong;
I am not worthy now your love to claim,
My erring heart is selfish, and to blame,
To sorrow and to grief it should belong.
I left thee with a willful, proud design,
And cared not that a hopeless life was thine.
To give unto thy care, what have I now?
A worn and wasted life--a broken vow."

"No, no! look up, Arline, bend not your head;
You wrong yourself--your life is good and true,
And pure the motive that your actions fed;