THE IMPROVISATRICE.
87
Lorenzo!—No, I did not speak;
My heart beat high, but could not break.
I shrieked not, wept not; but stood there
Motionless in my still despair;
As I were forced by some strange thrall,
To bear with and to look on all,—
I heard the hymn, I heard the vow;
(Mine ear throbs with them even now!)
I saw the young bride's timid cheek
Blushing beneath her silver veil.
I saw Lorenzo kneel! Methought
('Twas but a thought!) he too was pale.
But when it ended, and his lip
Was prest to her’s—I saw no more!
My heart grew cold,—my brain swam round,—
I sank upon the cloister floor!
