beauty of that angel face; it has come upon it like a lovely sleep, but sad, very sad, for their dying look is still upon the features. A king is kneeling by that coffin—one who would give his crown to restore life but for a day to those pale lips—to ask their latest wish—to implore pardon—and to say farewell! In vain King Henry bends in speechless despair over his victim and his love.
"Everywhere the same!" exclaimed Francesca, as she resumed her seat—"the same human misery—the same human portion! The loud wind, which I now hear howling around the battlements, seems but a mighty echo of the universal plaint wrung from mortal suffering. I would to Heaven, that if this is to be my chamber, it were hung with a less mournful history! A place for rest and sleep to be perpetually haunted by such misery as I see pictured there—and one grief ever brings another to mind—how many sorrowful records of my own land does that tapestry recall! Alas! amid so many instances of ever-recurring wretchedness, how can I hope that an exception will be made in my favour?"
