Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/159

"His floating robe around him folding,
Slow sweeps he through the columned aisle;
With dread beheld, with gloom beholding
The rites that sanctify the pile.
But when the anthem shakes the choir,
And kneel the monks, his steps retire;
By yonder lone and wavering torch
His aspect glares within the porch; 890
There will he pause till all is done—
And hear the prayer, but utter none.
See—by the half-illumined wall^{[lower-roman 1]}
His hood fly back, his dark hair fall,
That pale brow wildly wreathing round,
As if the Gorgon there had bound
The sablest of the serpent-braid
That o'er her fearful forehead strayed:
For he declines the convent oath,
And leaves those locks unhallowed growth, 900
But wears our garb in all beside;
And, not from piety but pride,
Gives wealth to walls that never heard
Of his one holy vow nor word.
Lo!—mark ye, as the harmony^{[lower-roman 2]}
Peals louder praises to the sky,
That livid cheek, that stony air
Of mixed defiance and despair!
Saint Francis, keep him from the shrine!^{[lower-roman 3]}

Variants

1. Behold—as turns he from the wall
   His cowl fly back, his dark hair fall.—[MS.]

   [A variant of the copy sent for insertion in the Seventh Edition differs alike from the MS. and the text—]

   Behold as turns him from the wall—
   His Cowl flies back-his tresses fall—
   That pallid aspect wreathing round.

2. Lo! mark him as the harmony.—[MS.]
3. Thank heaven—he stands without the shrine.—[MS. erased.]