Still that dark foreboding lingered Over all her pride and hate, Like a stifling mist, that ever Hangs above a burning river With its dull and stagnant weight: Slowly o’er the spectral Future crept the shadows of her fate! Now the eastern stars had mounted, And the midnight watch was o’er, When the long suspense was broken By a hasty watchword spoken, And a dark form passed the door. Blood was on his golden scabbard, and the sable robe he wore. “By this blade, most noble lady, Have I done thy will aright!” Then, upstarting from her languor, Cried she, in returning anger: “Where reposed the trait’rous knight? Didst thou tear him from _her_ clasping—strike him down before her sight?” “Nay, not so: in bright Palermo, Where the tourney’s torches shine— In the gardens of the palace, Did the green earth, from its chalice, Drink his bosom’s brightest wine, And the latest name that faltered on his dying lips, was _thine_!” With a scream, as agonizing In its horror and despair, As if life’s last hold were started, Ere the soul in torture parted, Stood she, pale and shuddering, there, With her face of marble lifted in the cavern’s noisome air. “God of Heaven! that fearful image, On the mirror’s surface thrown! Not Alberto, but a demon, Looked on her as on a leman, And the guilt is mine alone! Now that demon-shadow haunts me, and its curse is made my own! “See! its dead, cold eyes are glaring Through the darkness, steadily; And it holds a cloudy mirror, Imaging that scene of terror, Which was bloody death to _thee_! Mocking now thy noble features, turns its fearful gaze on me! “And I see, beneath their seeming, How the demon features glow! Ghastly shadows rise before me, And the darkness gathers o’er me, With its never-ending wo— Now I feel, avenging spirits! how your spells of madness grow!” With a shriek, prolonged and painful, Through the wood she fled afar, Where the air was awed and fearful, And between the boughs the tearful Shining of a dewy star Pierced alone the solid darkness which enclosed her as a bar. Night by night, in gloom and terror, From the crag and from the glen Came those cries, the quiet breaking, Till the shepherd-dogs, awaking, Bayed in loud and mournful pain, And the vintager, benighted, trembled on the distant plain.