Lo! on Pietra’s brow a sullen gloom
Is gathering day by day, prophetic of her doom.
Oh! can he meet that eye, of light serene,
Whence the pure spirit looks in radiance forth,
And view that bright intelligence of mien
Form’d to express but thoughts of loftiest worth,
Yet deem that vice within that heart can reign?
—How shall he e’er confide in aught on earth again?
In silence oft, with strange vindictive gaze.
Transient, yet fill’d with meaning, stern and wild,