Page:Last Poems.djvu/75

 But suddenly, around her amber neck, The golden beads would sparkle as she turned.

And I remembered; swift mine eyelids fell To hide the hate that festered in my soul, Ever more deeply, with the rising fear That Love might wrench Revenge from my control.

But when at last she, acquiescent, lay In the sweet-scented shadow of the firs, Lovely and broken, granting—asking—all, It was his eyes I met: not hers—not hers!



Three months I waited: all the village talked, And ever anxiously she urged our flight. Yet still I lingered, till her beauty paled, And wearily she came to me at night.

Then, seeing Love, subservient to Revenge, Had well achieved his own creative end, And in his work must soon be manifest, Compassing thus my duty to my friend,

One tranquil, sultry night I rode away Till far behind the purple hills were dim, Exulting in my spirit, "Thus I leave Her to her fate, and my revenge to him!"

Swiftly he struck, her lord; the body lay With hacked-off breasts, dishonoured, in the Pass. 63