They loos'd the bonds that held their captive's breath: From his pale lips they took the cup of death; They quench'd the brand beneath the cypress tree; "Away," they cried, "young stranger, thou art free!" COSTANZΑ. Art thou then desolate ? Of friends, of hopes forsaken ?-Come to me! I am thine own. Have trusted hearts prov'd false? For thy sake? Know'st thou that thy voice had power By one kind tone?-to fill mine eyes with tears Of yearning love? And thou-oh! thou didst throw SHE knelt in prayer. A stream of sunset fell Through the stain'd window of her lonely cell, And with its rich, deep, melancholy glow Flushing her cheek and pale Madonna-brow, While o'er her long hair's flowing jet it threw By painting's touch around some holy head, And of the gentle saint no more was known, A temple of the pine and chestnut shade, Filling its depths with soul, whène'er her hymn Rose through each murmur of the green, and dim, Went moaning through the grass, like sounds in dreams, To the sick peasant on his lowly bed, Came, and brought hope; while scarce of mortal birth He deem'd the pale, fair form, that held on earth Communion but with grief. Ere long a cell, A rock-hewn chapel rose, a cross of stone And now 'twas prayer's own hour. That voice again The floating song. Strange sounds !—the trumpet's peal, And all was chang'd within the still retreat, The sweet saint's prayers to heal him; then for flight, What mothers' eyes have watch'd in rosy sleep Of the damp cheek they hung! the eyes' dark ray— |