And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed,

To covet there another's bride;

But she must lay her conscious head

A husband's trusting heart beside.

But fevered in her sleep she seems,

And red her cheek with troubled dreams, 70

And mutters she in her unrest

A name she dare not breathe by day,[415]

And clasps her Lord unto the breast

Which pants for one away:

And he to that embrace awakes,

And, happy in the thought, mistakes

That dreaming sigh, and warm caress,

For such as he was wont to bless;

And could in very fondness weep

O'er her who loves him even in sleep. 80