“The air reviv’d her—­but again
    She left not, for the social train,
    The stillness of her chamber;—­ne’er
    Its threshold pass’d, but on her bier: 
    Spoke but to one who seem’d to stand
    Anear, and took his viewless hand,
    To promise, let whate’er betide,
    She would not be another’s bride. 
    Then, pleading as for past offence,
    Cried out aloud, ’They bore me hence! 
    My feet, my lips, refus’d to move,
    To violate the vows of love! 
    My sense recoil’d, my vision flew,
    Almost before I met thy view! 
    Almost before I heard thee cry
    Perfidious Osvalde! look and die!

      “’Oppose them?  No!  I did not dare! 
    I am not as a many are,
    Ruling themselves:  my spirits fly,
    My force expires before reply. 
    Instinctively a coward, free
    In speech, in act, I could not be
    With any in my life, but thee! 
    Nor strength, nor power do I possess,
    Except, indeed, to bear distress! 
    Except to pour the aching sigh,
      Which only can my pain relieve;
    Inhuman ye who ask me why,
      And pause, to wonder that I grieve: 
    Mine are the wounds which never close,
      Mine is a deep, untiring care;
    A horror flying from repose,
      A weight the sickening soul must bear. 
    The tears that from these eyelids flow,
      The sad confusion of my brain,
    All waking phantoms of its woe,
      Your anger, and the world’s disdain,—­
    Seek not to sooth me!—­they are sent
      This feeble frame and heart to try! 
    It is establish’d, be content! 
      They never leave me till I die!’

      “So little here is understood,
    So little known the great and good,
    The deep regret that Eustace prov’d,
    Brought home conviction that he lov’d
    To many:  others thought, her dower,
    The loss of lordships, wealth, and power,
    Full cause for sorrow; and the king
    Hop’d he might consolation bring,
    And bind a wavering servant o’er,
    (Not found too loyal heretofore,)
    By linking his sole daughter’s fate
    In wedlock with an English mate—­
    His favourite too! whose own domain
    Spread over valley, hill, and plain;
    Whose far-trac’d lineage did evince
    A birth-right worthy of a prince;
    Whose feats of arms, whose honour, worth,
    Were even nobler than his birth;
    Who, in his own bright self, did bring
    A presence worthy of a king—­
    A form to catch and charm the eye,
    Make proud men gracious, ladies sigh;
    The boldest, wisest, and the best,
    Greater than each presuming guest;—­
    I speak from judgment, not from love,—­
    In all endowments far above
    Who tastes this day of festal cheer,
    And whom his death assembles here!