Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/36

No, nor beyond!—to those pure skies
Where thou shalt be, I may not rise;
Heaven's will for ever parts our lot,
Yet, oh! my child! abhor me not!
Speak once! to soothe this broken heart,
Speak to me once! and then depart!"

But still—as if each pulse were dead,
Mute—as the pow'r of speech were fled,
Pale—as if life-blood ceas'd to warm
The marble beauty of her form;
On the dark rock she lean'd her head,
That seem'd as there 'twere rivetted,
And dropt the hands, till then which press'd
Her burning brow, or throbbing breast.
There beam'd no tear-drop in her eye,
And from her lip there breath'd no sigh,
And on her brow no trace there dwelt,
That told she suffer'd or she felt.
All that once glow'd, or smil'd, or beam'd,
Now fix'd, and quench'd, and frozen seem'd;
And long her sire, in wild dismay,
Deem'd her pure spirit pass'd away.

But life return'd. O'er that cold frame
One deep convulsive shudder came,
And a faint light her eye relum'd,
And sad resolve her mien assum'd;
But there was horror in the gaze,
Which yet to his she dar'd not raise,
And her sad accents, wild and low,
As rising from a depth of woe,
At first with hurried trembling broke,
But gather'd firmness as she spoke.