University of Virginia Library

The lady sat in sadness; her fair lid
Shrouding her eye's dark beauty; while soft hands
Were wreathing her thick tresses, and amid
The glossy ringlets twining costly bands
Of snowy pearls; but oft the deep-drawn sigh
Heaved the rich robe that folded o'er her breast;
And when she raised her head, within her eye
Sparkled a tear which would not be represt.
She glanced towards the mirror, and a smile
Crossed her sweet lip—it was a woman's feeling
Of mingled pride and pleasure, even while
The blight of sorrow o'er her heart was stealing:
Yet as she gazed she thought of by-past hours,
When she was wont, within the orange bowers,
To sit beneath the moonlight; and the arm
Of one she loved was folded round her form,
While to his throbbing breast she oft would cling
And playfully her loosen'd tresses fling,
Light fetters, o'er his neck; then, with bright cheek,
Smile when he strove his tenderness to speak.

Another change came o'er her face; she turned
And raised a crystal cup that near her stood;
Upon her cheek a deeper crimson burned,
And to her eye there rushed a fearful flood
Of wild emotion: eagerly she quaffed,
With trembling lip, the strangely blended draught,
And then in low and faltering accents cried:
“Am I not now a gay and happy bride?”

She stood before the altar; her pale brow
Uplifted to the holy cross. The sun
Shed through the painted window a deep glow
Upon her cheek; and he who thus had won
Her hand without her heart, was at her side;
The dark-robed priest, too; but as less allied
To earth than heaven, she stood. When called to speak
The sad response, her voice had grown so weak
She scarce could utter it; her fragile form
Shook with convulsed emotion; but the arm
Of her stern sire supported her; her head
Fell helpless on her breast, and she was wed.
The bridegroom pressed his lip to her pale face;
She shrunk from him as loathing his embrace;
Then starting up with fearful calmness said:
“Father, I promised; have I not obeyed?
But there is yet another vow unpaid;
For I am the betrothed of Death, and lo!
The bridegroom waits his promised bride, e'en now.
Our nuptial torch shall be the glow-worm's light;
Our bridal bed the grave. O! it is sweet
To think that there no grief can throw its blight
O'er young affection—yes, e'en I can greet
The marriage cup when drugged with aconite.”
She trembled—would have fallen; but again
Her haughty father's arm was near: her breath
Grew fainter; her breast heaved as with pain;
Lowly she murmured: “Let my bridal wreath
Lie on my bier—he deems me faithless—now
Let him bend o'er this pale and stony brow,
And learn how well I loved”—one fleeting spot
Of crimson crossed her cheek—and she was not.