RAVENSBY. ‘Th’ intensity of grief destroys itself. The torturer beholds his Victim stretched Unconscious, pain itself o’ercome by pain. Fate dooms me now to death; last punishment Which mortal can inflict,--and yet I feel There’s mercy in the doom. Thus to live on Were lingering martyrdom; it were to die By inches, drain my heart’s blood drop by drop. One flash ends all! O Clara, when my soul Hath ceased to suffer, can it cease to love? Methinks, when quitting Earth, ’twill still retain Her image, who was more than Earth to me! It is a portion of my being, twined With every thought and feeling; thou wilt weep, My Clara; thou canst not believe him false To faith and friends, who is so true to thee. Gazing into the uncorrupted depths Of thy pure feelings, thou wilt judge of mine. When all denounced me, thou wert still my friend When all forget, thou wilt remember still!