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It was a gust violent soon over; and the 'o'er-charged' heart and brain were relieved. And she pushed open the window, and stood for a moment in the chill air, and sighed, and whispered a word or two over the closing flowers of her little garden toward the darkening glen, and with another great sigh closed the window, and returned. 'Can I do anything, Radie? You're better now. I knew you would be.
No more, my dear, no more these counsels try; O give my passions leave to run their race; Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace; Let folk o'er-charged with brain against me cry; Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye; Let me no steps, but of lost labour, trace; Let all the earth with scorn recount my case But do not will me from my love to fly.
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