 | Zóphiël ; or, the bride of seven |  |
LXXI.
They guard each pass, so that a bird in vain
An outlet to his airy rounds might seek:
And Philomars stalked o'er the floor, with pain
Stifling the rage which yet he dared not wreak;
An outlet to his airy rounds might seek:
And Philomars stalked o'er the floor, with pain
Stifling the rage which yet he dared not wreak;
And muttering 'twixt clinched teeth, “At last, young witch,
Ends thy career!” then he, with careful touch
Of his proved sword, examined every niche;
Then to the bride approached, and would have pierced her couch.
Ends thy career!” then he, with careful touch
Of his proved sword, examined every niche;
Then to the bride approached, and would have pierced her couch.
| Zóphiël ; or, the bride of seven | |