Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley).djvu/60

46 The ministers of misrule sent, Seized upon Lionel, and bore His chained limbs to a dreary tower, In the midst of a city vast and wide. For he, they said, from his mind had bent Against their gods keen blasphemy, For which, though his soul must roasted be In hell's red lakes immortally, Yet even on earth must he abide The vengeance of their slaves: a trial, I think, men call it. What avail Are prayers and tears, which chase denial From the fierce savage, nursed in hate? What the knit soul that pleading and pale Makes wan the quivering cheek, which late It painted with its own delight? We were divided. As I could, I stilled the tingling of my blood, And followed him in their despite, As a widow follows, pale and wild, The murderers and corse of her only child;