THE DEATH-BED OF TERESA DEL RIEGO.
Si fia muta ogni altra cosa, al fine
Parlerà il mio morire,
E ti dirà la morte il mio martire.
The room was darken’d; but a wan lamp shed
Its light upon a half-uncurtain’d bed,
Whereon the widow’d sate. Blackly as death
Her veiling hair hung round her, and no breath
Came from her lips to motion it. Between
Its parted clouds, the calm fair face was seen
In a snow paleness and snow silentness,
With eyes unquenchable, whereon did press
A little, their white lids, so taught to lie,
By weights of frequent tears wept secretly.
