Wrestling with weakness and with cherish’d sin, Doth triumph o’er the lacerated heart, That night ... that miserable night ... I vow’d, A virgin dedicate, to pass my life Immured; and, like redeemëd Magdalen, Or that Egyptian penitent, whose tears Fretted the rock, and moisten’d round her cave The thirsty desert, so to mourn my fall. The struggle ending thus, the victory Thus, as I thought, accomplish’d, I believed My soul was calm, and that the peace of Heaven Descended to accept and bless my vow And in this faith, prepared to consummate The sacrifice, I went to meet the King. See, Father, what a snare had Satan laid! For Roderick came to tell me that the Church From his unfruitful bed would set him free, And I should be his Queen. O let me close The dreadful tale! I told him of my vow; And from sincere and scrupulous piety, But more, I fear me, in that desperate mood Of obstinate will perverse, the which, with pride And shame and self-reproach, doth sometimes make A woman’s tongue, her own worst enemy, Run counter to her dearest heart’s desire, ... In that unhappy mood did I resist All his most earnest prayers to let the power Of holy Church, never more rightfully Invoked, he said, than now in our behalf, Release us from our fatal bonds. He urged With kindling warmth his suit, like one whose life Hung on the issue; I dissembled not My cruel self-reproaches, nor my grief, Yet desperately maintain’d the rash resolve; Till in the passionate argument he grew Incensed, inflamed, and madden’d or possess’d, ... For Hell too surely at that hour prevail’d, And with such subtile toils enveloped him, That even in the extremity of guilt No guilt he purported, but rather meant An amplest recompence of life-long love For transitory wrong, which fate perverse, Thus madly he deceived himself, compell’d, And therefore stern necessity excused. Here then, O Father, at thy feet I own Myself the guiltier; for full well I knew These were his thoughts, but vengeance master’d me, And in my agony I cursed the man Whom I loved best. Dost thou recall that curse? Cried Roderick, in a deep and inward voice, Still with his head depress’d, and covering still His countenance. Recall it? she exclaim’d; Father, I come to thee because I gave The reins to wrath too long, ... because I wrought His ruin, death, and infamy.... O God, Forgive the wicked vengeance thus indulged, As I forgive the King!... But teach me thou What reparation more than tears and prayers May now be made; ... how shall I vindicate His injured name, and take upon myself.... Daughter of Julian, firmly he replied, Speak not of that, I charge thee! On his fame The Ethiop dye, fixed ineffaceably, For ever will abide; so it must be, So should be: ’tis his rightful punishment; And if to the full measure of his sin