Page:Lalla Rookh - Moore - 1817.djvu/116

 Thou never couldst have borne it--Death had come At once and taken thy wrung spirit home. But 'twas not so--a torpor, a suspense Of thought, almost of life, came o'er the intense And passionate struggles of that fearful night, When her last hope of peace and heaven took flight: And tho' at times a gleam of frenzy broke,-- As thro' some dull volcano's veil of smoke Ominous flashings now and then will start, Which show the fire's still busy at its heart; Yet was she mostly wrapt in solemn gloom,-- Not such as AZIM'S, brooding o'er its doom And calm without as is the brow of death While busy worms are gnawing underneath-- But in a blank and pulseless torpor free From thought or pain, a sealed-up apathy Which left her oft with scarce one living thrill The cold, pale victim of her torturer's will.

Again, as in MEROU, he had her deckt Gorgeously out, the Priestess of the sect; And led her glittering forth before the eyes Of his rude train as to a sacrifice,--