Chapter 65

_new-filled grave. He looks very worn and ill_.

_Julian_. Now I can leave thee safely to thy sleep; Thou wilt not wake and miss me, my fair child! Nor will they, for she's fair, steal this ewe-lamb Out of this fold, while I am gone to seek And find the wandering mother of my lamb. I cannot weep; I know thee with me still. Thou dost not find it very dark down there? Would I could go to thee; I long to go; My limbs are tired; my eyes are sleepy too; And fain my heart would cease this beat, beat, beat. O gladly would I come to thee, my child, And lay my head upon thy little heart, And sleep in the divine munificence Of thy great love! But my night has not come; She is not rescued yet. Good-bye, little one.

[_He turns, but sinks on the grave. Recovering and rising_.]

Now for the world--that's Italy, and her!