19.

" With her? This impious wretch! So foul,
And yet so fair? " the King-Priest said;
And, not unmov'd, contemplated
The beauteous corpse. " Her wretched soul
Is now a crow's. Her carrion soon
Shall feed the wolf, beneath the moon
And winking stars. " Scornful, he spoke,
Though pity in his heart awoke;
Then, self-reproach'd, threw back his head,
While blacken'd on his lip of bile
The fiend of his unwilling smile —
And kick'd, with cruel foot, the dead.

20.

Darkens in grief the snowy Nun;
Slow, down her cheek the large tears run:
Burn's Adwick's brow. His fetter'd hands
Smite the Priest-Monarch, where he stands.
He strives, with desperate strain,
To break his bonds. His dizzy brain
Flames. Down he drops. Half-rais'd, he sighs,
Falls back, and deeply sighs:
See! how the fetter'd Lion dies!
Yet his last looks, his closing eyes,
Seek the dear, outrag'd form, that lies
Beside him, marble-pale and still,
And angel-fair;
And Love's strong will,
With his last breath,
Stamps on his failing motion grace,
And beauty on his heart-worn face,
Even in death;
While gasp the sable-helm'd, and stare.
Oh, thou large heart, and ample chest!
Oh, Man contemn'd, revil'd, oppress'd!
(Yet not unlov'd, though rude thy form;
Nor all-contemn'd, nor all-unbless'd,
Though trampled, like a trampled worm;)
Join, in the realm that knows not pain,
Thy vainly lov'd, who lov'd in vain,
And there thy soul's high lineage prove;
Though conquer'd, not enslav'd;
Not lost! but sav'd
By All-Redeeming Love.