And unsigned letters, darkened with her tears,
Writ in the hand that hapless sovereign knew
Too well;—then told the whole, strange, secret tale,
As if with Heaven that penance could avail,
Or with the Queen, who heard as idols list
The mad priest’s cry, nor changed her place nor moaned,
But, clutching those mute tokens of each tryst,
Hid them about her. But the other groaned:
“The picture,—let me see it ere I die,—
Then take them all! once, only!”—At that cry