The feverish glow of his brow was gone,

And his heart sank so still that it felt like stone,

As he looked on the face, and beheld its hue

So deeply changed from what he knew:
Fair but faint-without the ray

560

Of mind, that made each feature play

565

Like sparkling waves on a sunny day;

And her motionless lips lay still as death,

And her words came forth without her breath,
And there rose not a heave o'er her bosom's swell,
And there seemed not a pulse in her veins to dwell.
Though her eye shone out, yet the lids were fixed,
And the glance that it gave was wild and unmixed
With aught of change, as the eyes may seem

Of the restless who walk in a troubled dream;

Like the figures on arras, that gloomily glare, 575

Stirred by the breath of the wintry air,

So seen by the dying lamp's fitful light,

Lifeless, but life-like, and awful to sight;

As they seem, through the dimness, about to come

down

579

From the shadowy wall where their images frown;

Fearfully flitting to and fro,

As the gusts on the tapestry come and go.

"If not for love of me be given

"Thus much, then, for the love of heaven,

Again I say that turban tear

"From off thy faithless brow, and swear

"Thine injured country's sons to spare,

"Or thou art lost; and never shalt see

"Not earth-that's past-but heaven or me.

"If this thou dost accord, albeit

"A heavy doom 'tis thine to meet,

585

590

"That doom shall half absolve thy sin,

"And mercy's gate may receive thee within:

"But pause one moment more, and take

"The curse of him thou didst forsake;

"And look once more to heaven, and see

"Its love for ever shut from thee.
"There is a light cloud by the moon-

"'Tis passing, and will pass full soon

7

595

600

"Dark will thy doom be, darker still

"Thine immortality of ill."

605

Alp looked to heaven, and saw on high

The sign she spake of in the sky;

But his heart was swollen, and turned aside,

And charged to crush him-let it burst!

I am no changeling-'tis too late :

620

"The reed in storms may bow and quiver,

"Then rise again; the tree must shiver.

"What Venice made me, I must be,

"Her foe in all, save love to thee:

"But thou art safe: oh, fly with me!"

625

He turned, but she is gone!

Nothing is there but the column stone.

630

Hath she sunk in the earth, or melted in air?

He saw not, he knew not; but nothing is there.

XXII.

The night is past, and shines the sun

As if that morn were a jocund one.

Lightly and brightly breaks away

The Morning from her mantle grey,

And the Noon will look on a sultry day.

635