Hung dark o’er the blushes that burn’d on her cheek;
And so still and so lowly she bent in her shame,
It seemed as her spirit had flown from its frame.
3. The frown and the murmur went round through them all,
That one so unhallowed should tread in that hall;
And some said the poor would be objects more meet,
For the wealth of the perfumes she showered at his feet.
4. She marked but her Saviour, she spoke but in sighs,
She dared not look up to the heaven of his eyes;
And the hot tears gushed forth at each heave of her breast,