Throwing
himself on a bank, over which the ice hung in pointed masses, he felt
not the roughness of the ground, for all within him was disturbed and
at war.
"Why," cried he, "O! why was I selected for this cruel sacrifice? Why
was this heart, to whom the acclaim of multitudes could bring no
selfish joy-why was it to be bereft of all that ever made it beat with
transport? Companion of my days, partner of my soul! my lost, lost
Marion! And are thine eyes forever closed on me? Shall I never more
clasp that hand which ever thrilled my frame with every sense of
rapture? Gone, gone forever-and I am alone!"
Long and agonizing was the pause which succeeded to this fearful
tempest of feeling. In that hour of grief, renewed in all its former
violence, he forgot country, friends and all on earth. The
recollection of his fame was mockery to him; for where was she to whom
the sound of his praises would have given so much joy?
"Ah!" said he, "it was indeed happiness to be brightened in those eyes!
When the gratitude of our poor retainers met thine ear, how didst thou
lay thy soft cheek to mine, and shoot its gentle warmth into my heart!"
At that moment he turned his face on the gelid bank; starting with
wild horror, he exclaimed, "Is it now so cold? My Marion, my murdered
wife!" and, rushing from the spot, he again hastened along the margin
of the loch.
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