But in those dismal words that reach'd his ear, "Oh, my lost soul !" there was a sound so drear, So like that voice among the sinful dead, In which the legend o'er hell's gate is read, That, new as 'twas from her, whom nought could dim Or sink till now, it startled even him. "Ha, my fair Priestess!" thus, with ready wile, Th' impostor turn'd to greet her, "thou, whose smile Hath inspiration in its rosy beam - Beyond the enthusiast's hope or prophet's dream! So close with love's, men know not which they feel, pale, this morn's fatigue hath made them They want rekindling, · suns themselves would fail, From Light's own fount supplies of brilliancy! Catching the gem's bright colour, as they go. 'Twill make that soul all fire, those eyes all light. Come, come, I want thy loveliest smiles to-night: There is a youth why start? thou saw'st him then ; Look'd he not nobly? such the godlike men Thou'lt have to woo thee in the bowers above; Though he, I fear, hath thoughts too stern for love, Too ruled by that cold enemy of bliss The world calls virtue, we must conquer this; Nay, shrink not, pretty sage; 'tis not for thee The steel must pass through fire, ere it can yield Of powerful beauty on that warrior's heart. But hear me, Priestess! though each nymph of these First charms herself, then all the world beside, There still wants one to make the victory sure, Whose words, even when unmeaning, are adored, Which our faith takes for granted are divine! With her hands clasp'd, her lips apart and pale, The maid had stood, gazing upon the Veil From which these words, like south winds through a fence Of Kerzrah flowers, came filled with pestilence : So boldly utter'd too! as if all dread Of frowns from her, of virtuous frowns, were fled, At first, though mute she listen'd, like a dream Seem'd all he said; nor could her mind, whose beam As yet was weak, penetrate half his scheme. But when, at length, he uttered, “Thou art she!" All flash'd at once, and, shrieking piteously, 66 Oh, not for worlds!" she cried whom "Great God! to I once knelt innocent, is this my doom? Are all my dreams, my hopes of heavenly bliss, My purity, my pride, then come to this? To live, the wanton of a fiend! to be |