Whom no hopes cheat, and no despairs make pale;
Though in her heart, and on her rigid face,
Despair was throned in gaunt magnificence.
A sound disturbed her thought; she turned her head,
Waiting, while a strong hand unbarred the door,
With hatred burning in her tearless eyes,
Ready to front her foes. The huge door gave
Creaking, unwillingly, to close again
Behind a priest, whose melancholy eyes
Were dropped before the anger of her own.