Despair upon his dying face! The late repentance of that hour When Penitence hath lost her power To tear one terror from the grave,[ee] And will not soothe, and cannot save. * * * * * "The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name; 1100 But mine was like the lava flood That boils in Ætna's breast of flame. I cannot prate in puling strain Of Ladye-love, and Beauty's chain: If changing cheek, and scorching vein,[ef] Lips taught to writhe, but not complain, If bursting heart, and maddening brain, And daring deed, and vengeful steel, And all that I have felt, and feel, Betoken love--that love was mine, 1110 And shown by many a bitter sign. 'Tis true, I could not whine nor sigh, I knew but to obtain or die. I die--but first I have possessed, And come what may, I _have been_ blessed. Shall I the doom I sought upbraid? No--reft of all, yet undismayed[eg] But for the thought of Leila slain, Give me the pleasure with the pain, So would I live and love again. 1120 I grieve, but not, my holy Guide! For him who dies, but her who died: She sleeps beneath the wandering wave-- Ah! had she but an earthly grave, This breaking heart and throbbing head Should seek and share her narrow bed. She was a form of Life and Light,[119] That, seen, became a part of sight; And rose, where'er I turned mine eye, The Morning-star of Memory! 1130