Fear tame a monarch's brow, Remorse a warrior's look.

VII.
The old man's faded cheek waxed yet more pale,
As many a secret sad the King bewrayed;
As sign and glance eked out the unfinished tale,
When in the midst his faltering whisper stayed.
"Thus royal Witiza was slain,"--he said;
"Yet, holy Father, deem not it was I."
Thus still Ambition strives her crimes to shade. -
"Oh, rather deem 'twas stern necessity!
Self-preservation bade, and I must kill or die.

VIII.
"And if Florinda's shrieks alarmed the air,
If she invoked her absent sire in vain,
And on her knees implored that I would spare,
Yet, reverend Priest, thy sentence rash refrain!
All is not as it seems--the female train
Know by their bearing to disguise their mood:"
But Conscience here, as if in high disdain,
Sent to the Monarch's cheek the burning blood -
He stayed his speech abrupt--and up the Prelate stood.

IX.
"O hardened offspring of an iron race!
What of thy crimes, Don Roderick, shall I say?
What alms, or prayers, or penance can efface
Murder's dark spot, wash treason's stain away!
For the foul ravisher how shall I pray,