9.

While, thus, she spoke, lord Konig pac'd
His castle and the lake between,
With cold hand on his hot brow plac'd,
And blood-shot eyeballs, in despair
Fix'd wildly on the Wizard's chair,
Far over wood and water seen.
Earth, and the clear heav'n overhead,
Were tranquil as the sinless dead;
They might have sooth'd and tranquilliz'd
A heart less torn and agoniz'd;
But the mute clouds, the stirless air,
The silent light, the lake at rest,
All, mock'd the tumult in his breast,
The tempest raging there;
When — as a smile lights silently
The lip of sleeping infancy —
Out of the still lake's crystal bright,
Out of the silent air and light,
Seeming to soul and sight
A portion of the air and light,
The form, the face of Telma came!
In all her living loveliness
She stood before him. Motionless,
(Save that her moving lips display'd
What seem'd the teeth's pure ivory,
Like white flowers trembling in the shade,)
She utter'd his dear name!
Death had not from her stature taken
Its graceful slightness:
Still seem'd to heave, in blissful whiteness,
Her bosom soft and warm:
Nor had the dewy rose forsaken
Her full lip's eloquent charm;
Nor on her cheek had morning faded;
Nor had the eyes, which black locks shaded;
Lost their black brightness.
Yet was there a solemnity,
A marble fixedness of eye,
In her dread beauty; in her look
A calmness — Oh, Thou Wizard's Chair,
And thy grim guest of bone and hair!
That calmness took
The fever-flush from Konig's cheek,
And paled it, as with fear;
It was the look that bids hearts break,
Hope shudder, and bereavement seek
No solace here.