"I think that look of Christ might seem to say--
'Thou Peter! art thou then a common stone
Which I at last must break my heart upon,
For all God's charge, to his high angels, may
Guard my foot better? Did I yesterday
Wash _thy_ feet, my beloved, that they should run
Quick to deny me 'neath the morning sun,--
And do thy kisses, like the rest, betray?--
The cock crows coldly.--Go, and manifest
A late contrition, but no bootless fear!
For when thy deathly need is bitterest,
Thou shalt not be denied, as I am here--
My voice, to God and angels, shall attest,--
_Because I_ KNOW _this man, let him be clear_.'"
One more sonnet, and we bid adieu to these very favourable specimens of
Miss Barrett's genius:--