XXV.

And now that blind old Abbot rose, 465
  To speak the Chapter’s doom,
On those the wall was to enclose,
  Alive, within the tomb;
But stopp’d, because that woful Maid,
Gathering her powers, to speak essay’d. 470
Twice she essay’d, and twice in vain;
Her accents might no utterance gain;
Nought but imperfect murmurs slip
From her convulsed and quivering lip;
  Twixt each attempt all was so still, 475
  You seem’d to hear a distant rill—­
    ’Twas ocean’s swells and falls;
  For though this vault of sin and fear
  Was to the sounding surge so near,
  A tempest there you scarce could hear, 480
    So massive were the walls.

XXVI.

At length, an effort sent apart
The blood that curdled to her heart,
  And light came to her eye,
And colour dawn’d upon her cheek, 485
A hectic and a flutter’d streak,
Like that left on the Cheviot peak,
  By Autumn’s stormy sky;
And when her silence broke at length,
Still as she spoke she gather’d strength, 490
  And arm’d herself to bear. 
It was a fearful sight to see
Such high resolve and constancy,
  In form so soft and fair.

XXVII.

’I speak not to implore your grace, 495
Well know I, for one minute’s space
  Successless might I sue: 
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain;
For if a death of lingering pain,
To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, 500
  Vain are your masses too.—­
I listen’d to a traitor’s tale,
I left the convent and the veil;
For three long years I bow’d my pride,
A horse-boy in his train to ride; 505
And well my folly’s meed he gave,
Who forfeited, to be his slave,
All here, and all beyond the grave.—­
He saw young Clara’s face more fair,
He knew her of broad lands the heir, 510
Forgot his vows, his faith forswore,
And Constance was beloved no more.—­
  ’Tis an old tale, and often told;
    But did my fate and wish agree,
  Ne’er had been read, in story old, 515
  Of maiden true betray’d for gold,
    That loved, or was avenged, like me!

XXVIII.

’The King approved his favourite’s aim;
In vain a rival barr’d his claim,
  Whose fate with Clare’s was plight, 520
For he attaints that rival’s fame
With treason’s charge—­and on they came,
  In mortal lists to fight. 
    Their oaths are said,
    Their prayers are pray’d, 525
    Their lances in the rest are