“Oh! how can I be fair and young—from old death’s realm am I!
Oh! how can I be rose and white—so long since did I die!”
VII.
Then passed the death-pale ladye thorough the open door,
And sliding up the marble stairs, stood on her chamber floor.
Half-scared, half-joyous, round about her sleepless children press,
With gentle hand she washes one, another’s hair doth tress,
Breathes mother’s comfort unto these, and to her blanched breast
Presses her last-born little one, to lull him into rest.
VIII.
Then bade she to her eldest child—who from the threshold stone
Had followed, in despite of fear, drawn by her love alone—
“Go rouse thy father Dyring, and charge him quickly come:”
