Page:Records of Woman.pdf/207

Rh

What marvel if the anguish, the surprise, The dark remembrances, the alter'd guise, Awhile o'erpower'd her?—from the weeper's touch She shrank—'twas but a moment—yet too much For that all humbled one; its mortal stroke Came down like lightning, and her full heart broke At once in silence. Heavily and prone She sank, while, o'er her castle's threshold-stone, Those long fair tresses—they still brightly wore Their early pride, tho' bound with pearls no more— Bursting their fillet, in sad beauty roll'd, And swept the dust with coils of wavy gold.

Her child bent o'er her—call'd her—'twas too late— Dead lay the wanderer at her own proud gate! The joy of Courts, the star of knight and bard,— How didst thou fall, O bright-hair'd Ermengarde!