WIDOW OF CRESCENTIUS.
123
Yet, these are but a moment's throes,
Howe'er intense, they soon shall close.
Soon shalt thou yield thy fleeting breath,
My life hath been a lingering death;
Since one dark hour of woe and crime,
A blood-spot on the page of time!
"Deem'st thou my mind of reason void?
It is not phrenzied,—but destroy'd!
Aye! view the wreck with shuddering thought,—
That work of ruin thou hast wrought!
"The secret of thy doom to tell,
My name alone suffices well!
Stephania!—once a hero's bride!
Otho' thou know'st the rest—he died.
Yes! trusting to a monarch's word,
The Roman fell, untried, unheard!
And thou, whose every pledge was vain,
How couldst thou trust in aught again?
"He died, and I was changed—my soul,
A lonely wanderer, spurn'd control.
