Her two hands clasp cross, book, and she Is strong in tranquil purity,-- Ay, strong as Samson when he laid His two hands forth, and bowed and prayed. One at her left, one at her right, And she between, the steps upon,-- I can but see that Syrian night, The women there at early dawn 'Tis strange, I know, and may be wrong, But ever pictured in my song; And rhyming on, I see the day They came to roll the stone away. XIV. The sky is like an opal sea, The air is like the breath of kine, But oh her face is white, and she Leans faint to see a lifted sign,-- To see two hands lift up and wave To see a face so white with woe, So ghastly, hollow, white as though It had that moment left the grave. Her sweet face at that ghostly sign, Her fair face in her weight of hair, Is like a white dove drowning there,-- A white dove drowned in Tuscan wine. He tries to stand, to stand erect. 'Tis gold, 'tis gold that holds him down! And soul and body both must drown,-- Two millstones tied about his neck. Now once again his piteous face Is raised to her face reaching there. He prays such piteous, silent prayer As prays a dying man for grace. It is not good to see him strain To lift his hands, to gasp, to try To speak. His parched lips are so dry Their sight is as a living pain. I think that rich man down in hell Some like this old man with his gold,-- To gasp and gasp perpetual Like to this minute I have told. XV. At last the miser cries his pain,-- A shrill, wild cry, as if a grave Just ope'd its stony lips and gave One sentence forth, then closed again. "'Twas twenty years last night, last night!" His lips still moved, but not to speak; His outstretched hands so trembling weak Were beggar's hands in sorry plight. His face upturned to hers, his lips Kept talking on, but gave no sound; His feet were cloven to the ground; Like iron hooks his finger-tips. "Ay, twenty years," she sadly sighed: "I promised mother every year That I would pray for father here, As she had prayed, the night she died: "To pray as she prayed, fervidly; As she had promised she would pray The sad night of her marriage day, For him, wherever he might be." Then she was still; then sudden she Let fall her eyes, and so outspake As if her very heart would break, Her proud lips trembling piteously: "And whether he come soon or late To kneel beside this nameless grave, May God forgive my father's hate As I forgive, as she forgave!" He saw the stone; he understood With that quick knowledge that will come Most quick when men are made most dumb With terror that stops still the blood. And then a blindness slowly fell On soul and body; but his hands Held tight his bags, two iron bands, As if to bear them into hell.