Ah me! with what fierce heavings in them pent
The brave complete their work, whate’er befall!
Upon her front the people only read
Pale grief that clung forever to the dead.
How should they know she trod the royal stand,
And took within her hold the silken line,
As, while the headsman waits, one lays her hand
Upon the scarf that slays her by a sign?
With one great pang she drew the veil, and lo!
The work was dazzling in the noonday glow.