Page:The works of Anna Laetitia Barbauld volume 1.djvu/341

Tis all to soothe thy. deep despair,
He courts the body's pangs, for thine he cannot bear.

See o'er the bleeding corse of her he loved,
The jealous murderer bends unmoved,
Trembling with rage, his livid lips express
His frantic passion's wild and rash excess.
O God, she's innocent! transfixt he stands,
Pierced thro’ with shafts from thine avenging hands ;
Down his pale cheek no tear will flow,
Nor can he shun, nor can he bear, his woe.

’Twas phantoms summoned by thy power
Round Richard's couch at midnight hour,
That scared the tyrant from unblest repose ;
With frantic haste, "To horse! to horse!" he cries,
While on his crowned brow cold sweat-drops rise,
And fancied spears his spear oppose ;
But not the swiftest steed can bear away
From thy firm grasp thine agonizing prey,