Away! away! this suffering is more
Than thy wild prayer invoked for me, far worse
Than any nature less than mine could brook,
Or even dream of in its maddest power!
Away! with that dark, scornful, fearful look,
And leave me to the anguish of this hour !
"Ye haunting spirits of the past, away!
Eyes once so soft now burn my very soul!
I can not hope—I can not sleep—nor pray!
Wild phantoms have me in their dark control.
Pride! pride! where have you flown, my boasted pride?
My brain is agony—my soul is hell!
In vain my soul these visions has defied—
Oh, this despair—Adel! Adel! Adel!"
PART FOURTH.
By a Venetian window stood Adel—
Her soft, deep eyes turned with a pensive look
Upon a sunset, rarely beautiful.
One round and snowy arm held back the folds
Of a rich, crimson curtain, whose warm glow
Tinged with a deeper color the young cheek
Resting against the casement.
Purer still,
And holier than ever, was her brow—
Her eyes were deeper and more angel-like,
And her sweet lip more placid and less bright—
Her form more fragile even than of yore—
Her manner so subdued and spiritual—
Herself the exquisite embodiment
Of purity, and loveliness, and grace—
So sadly, softly beautiful she stood.
The muffled echo of a coming step,
Wrapped up in roses from the Persian loom,
