O you who never have been tried, How can you judge me!--in my place I saw him standing--who can trace My heart thoughts then!--I turned aside, A thing of some unnatural race, And did not speak; and so he died. In hospital or prison, when It was he lay; what had forbid His home return so long: amid What hardships he had suffered, then I dared not ask; and when I did, Long afterwards, inquire of men, No thing I learned. But this I feel-- He who had so returned to life Was not a spy. Through stress and strife,-- This makes my conscience hard to heal!-- He had escaped; he sought his wife; He sought his home that should conceal. And Margaret! Oh, pity her! A criminal I sought her side, Still thinking love was justified In all for her--whatever were The price, a brother thrice denied, Or thrice a brother's murderer. Since then long years have passed away. And through those years, perhaps, you'll ask How to the world I wore my mask Of honesty?--I can but say Beyond my powers it was a task; Before my time it turned me gray. And when at last the ceaseless hiss Of conscience drove, and I betrayed All to her, she knelt down and prayed, Then rose; and 'twixt us an abyss Was opened; and she seemed to fade Out of my life: I came to miss The sweet attentions of a bride: For each appealing heart's caress In me, her heart assumed a dress Of dull indifference; till denied To me was all responsiveness; And then I knew her love had died. Ah, had she loaded me, perchance, With wild reproach or even hate, Such would have helped a hope to wait Forgiveness and returned romance; But 'twixt our souls, instead, a gate She closed of silent tolerance. Yet, 't was for love of her I lent My soul to crime ... I question me Often, if less entirely I'd loved her, then, in that event, She had been justified to see The deed alone stand prominent. The deed alone! But love records In his own heart, I will aver, No depth I did not feel for her Beyond the plummet-reach of words: And though there may be worthier, No truer love this world affords Than mine was, though it could not rise Above itself. And so 't was best, Perhaps, that she saw manifest Its crime, that I, as saw her eyes, Might see; and so, in soul confessed, Some life atonement might devise. Sadly my heart one comfort keeps, That, towards the end, she took my hands And said, as one who understands, "Had I but seen! But love that weeps, Sees only as its loss commands," And sighed. Beneath this stone she sleeps. Yes; I have suffered for that sin; Yet in no instance would I shun What I should suffer. Many a one, Who heard my tale, has tried to win Me to believe that Hamilton It was not; and, though proven kin,