And could in very fondness weep O'er her who loves him even in sleep. VI. He clasped her sleeping to his heart, 80 85 The wretch who sinks to rise no more,— So came upon his soul the shock. And whose that name? 'tis Hugo's,-his In sooth he had not deemed of this!— 100 "Tis Hugo's, he, the child of one VII. He plucked his poignard in its sheath, But sheathed it ere the point was bare— Howe'er unworthy now to breathe, He could not slay a thing so fair— At least, not smiling--sleeping-there— Nay, more: he did not wake her then, Which, had she roused her from her trance, Had frozen her sense to sleep again— And o'er his brow the burning lamp Gleamed on the dew-drops big and damp. 105 110 115 VIII. And with the morn he sought, and found, In many a tale from those around, The proof of all he feared to know, Their present guilt, his future woe; To save themselves, and would transfer The guilt the shame-the doom-to her: Concealment is no more-they speak All circumstance which may compel Full credence to the tale they tell : And Azo's tortured heart and ear IX. He was not one who brooked delay: 120 125 130 The chief of Este's ancient sway Upon his throne of judgment sate; 135 His nobles and his guards are there, Before him is the sinful pair; Both young, and one how passing fair! With swordless belt, and fettered land, Oh, Christ! that thus a son should stand 140 Before a father's face! Yet thus must Hugo meet his sire, And hear the sentence of his ire, The tale of his disgrace! And yet he seems not overcome, 145 Although, as yet, his voice be dumb. X. And still, and pale, and silently Did Parisina wait her doom; How changed since last her speaking eye Glanced gladness round the glittering room, 150 Where high-born men were proud to wait Where Beauty watched to imitate Her gentle voice-her lovely mien And gather from her air and gait The graces of it's queen: Then, had her eye in sorrow wept, 155 Now, what is she? and what are they? Can she command, or these obey? Áll silent and unheeding now, With downcast eyes and knitting brow, And folded arms, and freezing air, 160 And lips that scarce their scorn forbear, 165 Her knights and dames, her court—is there: And he, the chosen one, whose lance Had yet been couched before her glance, Who- -were his arm a moment free Had died or gained her liberty; The minion of his father's bride, He, too, is fettered by her side; Nor sees her swoln and full eye swim Less for her own despair than him: Those lids o'er which the violet vein- 170 175 180 |