IV.

To Constance came a far less honest scroll, Yet oh, each word seem'd vivid from the soul! Fear, hope--reports that madden'd, yet could stir No faith in one who ne'er could doubt of her: Wild vows renew'd--complaints of no replies To lines unwrit; the eloquence of lies! And more than all, the assurance still too dear, Of Love surviving that vast age--a year! Such were the tidings to the maiden borne, And--woe the day--upon her Bridal Morn!