Poems, 1799 by Robert Southey
page 10 of 147 (06%)
page 10 of 147 (06%)
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As, Damsel! thou art now. Those deep-sunk eyes
Once beam'd the mild light of intelligence, And where thou seest the pamper'd flesh-worm trail, Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thought That at the hallowed altar, soon the Priest Should bless her coming union, and the torch Its joyful lustre o'er the hall of joy, Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth That Priest consign'd her, and the funeral lamp Glares on her cold face; for her lover went By glory lur'd to war, and perish'd there; Nor she endur'd to live. Ha! fades thy cheek? Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale? Look here! behold the youthful paramour! The self-devoted hero!" Fearfully The Maid look'd down, and saw the well known face Of THEODORE! in thoughts unspeakable, Convulsed with horror, o'er her face she clasp'd Her cold damp hands: "Shrink not," the Phantom cried, "Gaze on! for ever gaze!" more firm he grasp'd Her quivering arm: "this lifeless mouldering clay, As well thou know'st, was warm with all the glow Of Youth and Love; this is the arm that cleaved Salisbury's proud crest, now motionless in death, Unable to protect the ravaged frame From the foul Offspring of Mortality That feed on heroes. Tho' long years were thine, Yet never more would life reanimate This murdered man; murdered by thee! for thou |
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