But in my wreck of happiness 
Still prove unfaltering truth; 
And, blotted thus with tears, return 
The pledge I would, but cannot spurn.’ 
And such is woman’s love! not even pride, 
That oft quells passion in its fiercest tide, 
This high-souled, injured, Swedish girl could save, 
For Spring wove garlands o’er her early grave. 
