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Arms drop down, and footsteps stumble,Can this be the pathway homewards?Shall she fly, or shall she tarry?Can she think, when thought and counsel,When assistance all are lost?So before her spouse appears she--On her looks he--look is judgment--Proudly on the sword he seizes,To the hill of death he drags her,Where delinquents' blood pays forfeit.What resistance could she offer?What excuses could she proffer,Guilty, knowing not her guilt?

That his love must be my life;Both, with feelings fraught with joy,