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Father, I fain would sleep.
Truly my soul is silent unto God.


A VINE-ARBOUR IN THE FAR WEST.

I.
Laura, my Laura! 'Yes, mother!' 'I want you, Laura; come down.'
'What is it, mother--what, dearest? O your loved face how it pales!
You tremble, alas and alas--you heard bad news from the town?'
'Only one short half hour to tell it. My poor courage fails--

II.
Laura.' 'Where's Ronald?--O anything else but Ronald!' 'No, no,
Not Ronald, if all beside, my Laura, disaster and tears;
But you, it is yours to send them away, for you they will go,
One short half hour, and must it decide, it must for the years.

III.
Laura, you think of your father sometimes?' 'Sometimes!' 'Ah, but how?'
'I think--that we need not think, sweet mother--the time is not yet,
He is as the wraith of a wraith, and a far off shadow now--
--But if you have heard he is dead?' 'Not that?' 'Then let me forget.'

IV.
'The sun is off the south window, draw back the curtain, my child.


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