may bear; but, daughter, listen!
I am not guilty! if the human mind
May keep account with its own issuings forth
To act and do; if thought deceive us not,
And reason live in man. I am not guilty, if
The blind chimera of an earth-crown'd king
Be less than God's truth--not, if it be well
To love this people; to have drawn the sword
For mercy's sake alone. I am not guilty!
(O God! call back her eyes' fast fading light,
Lest she die judging me.) I am not guilty!
Except in loving thee too well. My lips
Shall speak no more at the eternal judgment
Than this--

_Eliz._ 'Tis truth! It cannot be but truth,
All things seem different, yet just now I thought
To see more clearly, whilst I dar'd to judge him--
How happy am I now--forgive me, oh!
My father!

_Crom._ It has been, that I have shrunk
From noble consciousness of the good work,
For love of thee--seeing thee pine and faint,
Deeming thy parent guilty of much blood,
And great deeds for the small base thought of self.
Thus, like the patriarch, I have cried aloud
Unto the Lord, rebelling thus against
His holy will. This is my darkest error.

_Eliz._ Now, let me comfort him and die in peace.
O father, 'tis another love that bends
This blighted form to earth.

_Crom._ Ha! What is this?
Thy husband!

_Eliz._ Fear not, I am pure in thought
And deed--yet I was married early,
Ere I had lov'd. I could not choose but love,
When I saw one--No matter--I am pure;
But death is welcome. Do not frown on me:
I ne'er had told thee, but for comfort's sake,
Lest thou shouldst think that thou hadst slain thy daughter.

_Crom._ Can this be true?
And she is dying thus!
Would I had known it sooner; ere, alas!
It was too late. Come, tell me everything.

[_He kneels down beside her._]

_Eliz._ Nay, let this thing go by; clasp me unto thee.
Forgive me all the pain that I have cost thee.
I feel as if I were again a child
That prattled by thy side, ere strife had come,
And sown those wrinkles in thy lofty brow;
'Bend till my faded fingers reach to smooth them!
I cannot think but of an evening walk,
When thou didst tell me of the life of David,
And how he dwelt with God--'twas on the bench
Round the oak tree in the fair pasturage,
[_Organ plays._]
Behind the church;--see, see, yon arched window
Is full of light. Hush! they are singing, hush!
The sun is cheerful! Nature praises God.
Leave me not yet, my father, spare one hour
Unto thy child. Nay, then, we s