XX |
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XX
He started up with more of fear
Than if an armed foe were near.
"God of my fathers! what is here?
Who art thou, and wherefore sent
So near a hostile armament?"
His trembling hands refused to sign
The cross he deem`d no more divine:
He had resumed it in that hour,
But conscience wrung away the power.
He gazed — he saw: he knew the face
Of beauty, and the form of grace;
It was Francesca by his side,
The maid who might have been his bride!
The rose was yet upon her cheek,
But mellow`d with a tenderer streak:
Where was the play of her soft lips fled?
Gone was the smile that enliven`d their red.
The ocean`s calm within their view,
Beside her eye had less of blue;
But like that cold wave it stood still,
And its glance, though clear, was chill.
Around her form a thin robe twining,
Nought conceal`d her bosom shining;
Through the parting of her hair,
Floating darkly downward there,
Her rounded arm shew`d white and bare:
And ere yet she made reply,
Once she raised her hand on high;
It was so wan and transparent of hue,
You might have seen the moon shine through.
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