What fiend could harm a hair of her. While those arching-wings took care of her? And our Ladye, Maid divine, Mother round whose marble shrine She wreathed the rose of Palestine So many sinless years, Will not heaven's maiden-mother Queen Regard her daughter's tears! Yes!--through the forest stepping slow, Tranquil mistress of her woe, Goeth the calm Christine; And but for yonder spot of snow Upon each temple, none may know How stem a storm hath been. For never dawned a brighter day, And the Ladye smileth on her way, Greeting the blue-eyed morn at play With earth in her spangled green. A single cloud Stole like a shroud Forth from the fading mists that hid The crest of each Alpine pyramid; Unmovingly it lingers over The mountain castle of her lover; While over Pilate's Peak Hangs the grey pall of the sullen smoke, Leaps the lithe flame of the ancient oak And the eagle soars with a shriek. Full well she knew the curse was near. But that heart of hers had done with fear. By St. Antoine, not steadier stands Mont Blanc's white head in winter's whirl Than that calm, fearless, smiling girl With her bare brow upturned and firmly folded hands. Back to her bower so fair Christine her way, is wending; Over the dark Isère Silently she's bending, Thus communing with the stream. As one who whispers in a dream: "Waters that at sunset ran Round the Mount of Miolan; Stream, that binds my love to me, Whisper where that lover be; Wavelets mine, what evil things Mingle with your murmurings; Tell me, ere ye glide away. Wherefore doth the bridegroom stay? Hath the fiend of Pilate's Peak Met him, stayed him, slain him--speak! {180} Speak the worst a Bride may know, God hath armed my soul for woe; Touching heaven, the virgin snow Is firmer than the rock below. Lies my love upon his bier, Answer, answer, dark Isère! Hark, to the low voice of the river Singing '_Thy love is lost for ever!_' Weep with all thy icy fountains, "Weep, ye cold, uncaring mountains, I have not a tea! Stream, that parts my love from me, Bear this bridal rose with thee; Bear it to the happy hearted, Christine and all the flowers have parted!"