| |
| PALE, 1 cold and statue-like she sate, and her impeded breath | |
| Came gaspingly, as if her heart was in the grasp of death, | |
| While listening to the harsh decree that robb’d her of a throne, | |
| And left the gentle child of kings in the wide world alone. | |
| |
| And fearful was her look; in vain her trembling maidens moved, | 5 |
| With all affection’s tender care, round her whom well they loved; | |
| Stirless she sate, as if enchained by some resistless spell, | |
| Till with one wild, heart-piercing shriek in their embrace she fell. | |
| |
| How bitter was the hour she woke from that long dreamless trance; | |
| The veriest wretch might pity then the envied Jane of France; | 10 |
| But soon her o’erfraught heart gave way, tears came to her relief, | |
| And thus in low and plaintive tones she breath’d her hopeless grief: | |
| |
| “Oh! ever have I dreaded this, since at the holy shrine | |
| My trembling hand first felt the cold, reluctant clasp of thine; | |
| And yet I hoped—My own beloved, how may I teach my heart | 15 |
| To gaze upon thy gentle face and know that we must part? | |
| |
| “Too well I knew thou lovedst me not, but ah! I fondly thought | |
| That years of such deep love as mine some change ere this had wrought: | |
| I dream’d the hour might yet arrive, when sick of passion’s strife, | |
| Thy heart would turn with quiet joy to thy neglected wife. | 20 |
| |
| “Vain, foolish hope! how could I look upon thy glorious form, | |
| And think that e’er the time might come when thou wouldst cease to charm? | |
| For ne’er till then wilt thou be freed from beauty’s magic art, | |
| Or cease to prize a sunny smile beyond a faithful heart. | |
| |
| “In vain from memory’s darken’d scroll would other thoughts erase | 25 |
| The loathing that was in thine eye, where’er it met my face: | |
| Oh! I would give the fairest realm, beneath the all-seeing sun, | |
| To win but such a form as thou mightst love to look upon. | |
| |
| “Wo, wo for woman’s weary lot if beauty be not hers; | |
| Vainly within her gentle breast affection wildly stirs; | 30 |
| And bitterly will she deplore, amid her sick heart’s dearth, | |
| The hour that fix’d her fearful doom—a helot from her birth. | |
| |
| “I would thou hadst been cold and stern,—the pride of my high race | |
| Had taught me then from my young heart thine image to efface; | |
| But surely even love’s sweet tones could ne’er have power to bless | 35 |
| My bosom with such joy as did thy pitying tenderness. | |
| |
| “Alas! it is a heavy task to curb the haughty soul, | |
| And bid th’ unbending spirit bow that never knew control; | |
| But harder still when thus the heart against itself must rise, | |
| And struggle on, while every hope that nerved the warfare dies. | 40 |
| |
| “Yet all this have I borne for thee—aye, for thy sake I learn’d | |
| The gentleness of thought and word which once my proud heart spurn’d; | |
| The treasures of an untouch’d heart, the wealth of love’s rich mine, | |
| These are the offerings that I laid upon my idol’s shrine. | |
| |
| “In vain I breathed my vows to heaven, ’t was mockery of prayer; | 45 |
| In vain I knelt before the cross, I saw but Louis there: | |
| To him I gave the worship that I should have paid my God | |
| But oh! should his have been the hand to wield the avenging rod?” | |
