 | The bridal of Vaumond
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IV.
Sick in his couch Rugero lay,
The leech foretells his final day
Fast hurrying to its close;
He bids them tie the knot of fate,
That calm, well pleas'd, he may await
His last and long repose.
The hour drew near: “O come, my bride;”
Thus spoke the Baron bold—
“Why wait the dull delays of pride,
A monster stern and cold?
No pomp shall mar the mystic rite,
Love spreads his rosy pinions light,
The gorgeous pageant flies!”—
Rugero rais'd his failing hands,
The Knight implores, and he commands,
And her last struggle dies.
| The bridal of Vaumond
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