"Shall I fling thee forth to struggle with a never-sparing world; Knowing every eye will scorn thee, every lip at thee be curled? Know thee, budding bloom of beauty, withering in thy youth away-- Feel thy infant promise fading--see thy falcon-eye decay? "Did I give thee life to cloud it--life to poison every breath? Better far the dreary dungeon, and the dark and iron death! Never! Let them heap upon me rock on rock Olympus high; None shall see a sinew quiver, none shall hear the slightest cry. "'Blood for blood' is rightly written: I have slain a spotless wife, And will dree a heavy penance--yield the law my forfeit life; Come the judgment, I will meet it; and the torture shall not tear Word from me to make a beggar of my rightful, righteous heir." As the stricken knight was speaking, in the distance died the storm; And the moonlight on the casement wandered sweetly, rested warm; Through the golden glass it floated, fluttering over the lady's hair, Till she seemed a mild Madonna, watched by angels, slumbering there. Shaken by the storm of conscience, Roland sank upon his knee, Sudden as before a hurricane falls some famous forest tree; Sank beside pale, placid Gwineth, weeping, wailing, sorrow riven, Feeling God had spoken, praying that his crime might be forgiven. All that long and dreary night, Sir Roland watched beside the dead, Humbly kneeling in the rushes strown around the carven bed. Slowly, quietly approaching came the gray-eyed dreamy dawn, Making every thing about him seem more desolate and wan. One by one the stars went out, and slowly over the Orient came Streaks of rose and tints of purple, flakes of gold and rays of flame, And around the ancient castle Roland heard the hum of those That from quiet sleep were waking, as they, one by one, arose. Slowly through the painted casement, touching first the chamber crown And the groined roof, the sunlight stole in lovely lustre down Over the tapestry, that glistened, gleaming with its golden ray, Till it kissed the russet rushes where in yellow sleep it lay. Came the Lady Gwineth's maidens, starting at the sudden sight Of their lord, Sir Roland, standing like a warrior for the fight; But he waved them on; and, wondering, they unto the sleeper went-- Shrieking loudly, shrieking wildly as above her corpse they bent. Startled by the sudden clamor, Roland's son in fright awoke, As from all sides, madly rushing in the room, the vassals broke; Gathering round him, gazing on him, looking on the bloody brand And the lady, who, when living, was the loveliest in the land. Not a word the warrior uttered, though his son implored him sore, And they led him like an infant toward the oaken chamber-door; There he turned and gazed on Gwineth, looking on her face his last; Then between his guards in silence to the castle-prison passed.