Page:The princess; a medley (IA princessmedley00tennrich).pdf/105

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A MEDLEY.
97
Like some sweet sculpture draped from head to foot, And push'd by rude hands from its pedestal,All her fair length upon the ground she lay:And at her head a follower of the camp,A charr'd and wrinkled piece of womanhood,Sat watching like a watcher by the dead.
 Then Florian knelt, and 'Come' he whisper'd to her'Lift up your head, sweet sister: lie not thus.What have you done but right? you could not slay Me, nor your prince: look up: be comforted: Sweet is it to have done the thing one ought, When fall'n in darker ways.' And likewise I: 'Be comforted: have I not lost her too, In whose least act abides the nameless charm That none has else for me.' She heard, she moved, She moan'd, a folded voice; and up she sat, And raised the cloak from brows as pale and smooth, As those that mourn half-shrouded over death In deathless marble. 'Her' she said 'my friend—
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