Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/557

Rh Again attracted every eye—

Would she thus hear him doomed to die!

She stood, I said, all pale and still,

The living cause of Hugo's ill:

Her eyes unmoved, but full and wide,

Not once had turned to either side—

Nor once did those sweet eyelids close,

Or shade the glance o'er which they rose,

But round their orbs of deepest blue

The circling white dilated grew—

And there with glassy gaze she stood

As ice were in her curdled blood;

But every now and then a tear

So large and slowly gathered slid

From the long dark fringe of that fair lid,

It was a thing to see, not hear!