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I have seen him once again, There in the throng with his wife (An eagle matched with a pitiful wren!) Bitter in sooth has his portion been-- Chained to a clog for life! Strange that our eyes as of yore should meet And hold each other a breathless space, That the dawn-light of old should illumine his face, That the lips that were stern should an instant grow sweet, Touched with the old-time tender grace. But his eyes were haggard and old with pain (Traitors to thwart his resolute will!) They told me the struggle was vain--all vain! He loves me--loves me still.