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 The prætor speaks, the doom is giv'n,— Of maiden honour what reck they? The gentle Agnes forth is led To the dread place of infamy.

Yet, ruthless spoiler, come not nigh, An eye unseen is watching here; Beware yon angel's outstretch'd arm, With sword of vengeance glistening near.

Hush'd is the crowd, in still suspense They gaze, they strain their eager eyes. The hour is come—the axe has gleam'd, The snow-white lily falls and dies.

Yet, ere the veil of sense is rent, And ere life's blood has ceas'd to flow, A vision sweet of heavenly joy Is sent to soothe the suff'rer's wo.

A bright and festive angel band Has watch'd the dying maiden's love, And gently bear her in their arms To blissful seats of light above.

Then, sweetest Agnes, now in bliss, Look down and hear thy children's prayer From heaven above, oh, shew to us A mother's love, a sister's care.

And ask, O gentle Patroness, That all the youthful company Of those who love thee here below May find their home in heaven with that.

