]
Guta. This storm will blind us both: come here, and shield you
Behind this buttress.
Eliz. What's a wind to me?
I can see up the street here, if they come--
They do not come!--Oh! my poor weanling lambs--
Struck dead by carrion ravens!
What then, I have borne worse. But yesterday
I thought I had a husband--and now--now!
Guta! He called a holy man before he died?
Guta. The Bishop of Jerusalem, 'tis said,
With holy oil, and with the blessed body
Of Him for whom he died, did speed him duly
Upon his heavenward flight.
Eliz. O happy bishop!
Where are those children? If I had but seen him!
I could have borne all then. One word--one kiss!
Hark! What's that rushing? White doves--one--two--three--
Fleeing before the gale. My children's spirits!
Stay, babies--stay for me! What! Not a moment?
And I so nearly ready to be gone?
Guta. Still on your children?
Eliz. Oh! this grief is light
And floats a-top--well, well; it hides a while
That gulf too black for speech--My husband's dead!
I dare not think on't.
A small bird dead in the snow! Alas! poor minstrel!
A week ago, before this very window,
He warbled, may be, to the slanting sunlight;
And housewives blest him for a merry singer:
And now he freezes at their doors, like me.
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