IX.

By the opposing door, from that unseen, Where Ruthven stood behind the arras-screen, Pass'd Juliet. Suddenly the startled bride Look'd up, and lo, the Wrong'd One by her side! They gazed in silence face to face: his own, Sad, stern, and awful, chill'd her heart to stone. At length the low and hollow accents stirr'd His blanching lip, that writhed with every word: "Hear me a moment, nor recoil to hear; A love so hated wounds no more thine ear. I thank thee--I--!" His lips would not obey His pride,--and all the manly heart gave way. Low at his feet she fell: the alter'd course Of grief ran deep'ning into vain remorse; "Forgive me!--O forgive!" "Forgive!" he cried, And passion rush'd in speech, till then denied. "Vile mockery! Bid me in the desert live Alone with treason--and then say 'Forgive!' Thou dost not know the ruins thou hast made, Faith in _all_ things thy falsehood has betray'd! Thou, the last refuge, where my baffled youth Dream'd its safe haven, murmuring--'Here is Truth!' Thou in whose smile I garner'd up my breast, Exult! thy fraud surpasses all the rest. No! close, my heart--grow marble! Human worth Is not; and falsehood is the name for earth!"