Page:Rosalind and Helen (Shelley, Forman).djvu/27

Rh For all delights are shadows now! And from my brain to my dull brow The heavy tears gather and flow: I cannot speak: Oh let me weep!

The tears which fell from her wan eyes Glimmered among the moonlight dew: Her deep hard sobs and heavy sighs Their echoes in the darkness threw. When she grew calm, she thus did keep The tenor of her tale:

He died: I know not how: he was not old, If age be numbered by its years: But he was bowed and bent with fears, Pale with the quenchless thirst of gold, Which, like fierce fever, left him weak; And his strait lip and bloated cheek Were warped in spasms by hollow sneers; And selfish cares with barren plough, Not age, had lined his narrow brow, And foul and cruel thoughts, which feed Upon the withering life within, Like vipers on some poisonous weed. Whether his ill were death or sin None knew, until he died indeed,