XXXVII.

Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof 290 From the poor girl by magic of their light, The while it did unthread the horrid woof Of the late darken'd time,--the murderous spite Of pride and avarice,--the dark pine roof In the forest,--and the sodden turfed dell, Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.