ven wander through
The dreary twilight of my tangled hair.
Mine eyes shall never sparkle any more,
Save with the fearful glitter of unrest;
My cheeks flush not with any hope on earth;
But with the live glow in their ash burn on.
Death holds his Carnival of winter roses
Till their last blossom drops within the grave.
Hush! what was that? I thought I heard a noise:
He comes, my father comes! Away all thought
Of self--Away, base passion, that would bind
My winged soul to earth,--hush! hush! he comes.
[_Pause._]
Twas but the night-wind's flagging breath! No sound
Of mortal footstep, as it hither crept
Tiptoe and carefully, 'twas like a murderer,
That in his sleep walks forth. See, how he threads his way
'Mid all the antique chattels of the room
Where it was none! Mark, where his careful feet
Avoid yon blood-stains, though they shrink not when
The grey rat courses o'er them! Nay, 'tis gone.
A shape of fancy's painting to the sight.
'Twas but the wind, I said--whose fleeting voice
The vaulted corridor did syllable aloud,
Mingling my name with tombs.
Again, I hear
It is his heavy footstep--

_Enter CROMWELL, L._

Father! here
Come close and press me warmly to thee, quick!
Lest Death step in between us--'
Reach me here
That cup. My voice fails--not that hand! 'tis blood,

[_He lets fall the cup._]

As in my dreams. I would assoil him. Father!
'Tis said, upon the giddy verge of life
The eye grows steady, and the soul sees clear
Thought guiding action in all human things,
Not in the busy, whirling masque of life,
Reality unreal, but in truth.
Then the eye cuts as the chirurgeon's knife
Mocks the poor corpse. I saw not when he died:
Yet last night was a scaffold, there! all black,
And one stood visor'd by, with glittering axe
Who struck the bare neck of a kneeling form--
Methought the head of him that seem'd to die,
With ghastly face and painful, patient stare,
Glided along the sable, blood-gilt floor,
As unseen fiends did pull it by its mass
Of dank and dabbled hair, and when I turn'd
Mine eyes to see it not, the headsman's mask
Had fallen to the ground--
Thou didst not do it?
For it was _thy_ face. Father, answer me! [_She
implores in a very earnest attitude, and gradually
falls back._]

_Crom._ [_Stands amazed at his daughter's action._]
I'll hear no more. 'Twas not my daughter spoke--
She's dead, and Heaven reproves me with a voice
From yon pale tenement of clay. My hair's on end.
She