Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/84

Nought but imperfect murmurs slip
From her convulsed and quivering lip;
475 'Twixt each attempt all was so still,
 You seem'd to hear a distant rill—
  'Twas ocean's swells and falls;
 For though this vault of sin and fear
 Was to the sounding surge so near,
480 A tempest there you scarce could hear,
  So massive were the walls.

XXVI.
At length, an effort sent apart
The blood that curdled to her heart,
 And light came to her eye,
485And colour dawn'd upon her cheek,
A hectic and a flutter'd streak,
Like that left on the Cheviot peak,
 By Autumn's stormy sky;
And when her silence broke at length,
490Still as she spoke she gather'd strength,
 And arm'd herself to bear.
It was a fearful sight to see
Such high resolve and constancy,
 In form so soft and fair.

XXVII.
495'I speak not to implore your grace,
Well know I, for one minute's space
 Successless might I sue:
Nor do I speak your prayers to gain;
For if a death of lingering pain,
500To cleanse my sins, be penance vain,
 Vain are your masses too.—
I listen'd to a traitor's tale,
I left the convent and the veil;
For three long years I bow'd my pride,
505A horse-boy in his train to ride;