By truth eternal and divine,
Accuser! wilt thou swear to thine?”
—“The cross upon my heart is prest,
I hold the dagger to my breast;
If false the tale whose truth I swear,
Be mine the murderer’s doom to bear!”
Then sternly rose the dread reply—
“His days are number’d—he must die!
There is no shadow of the night
So deep as to conceal his flight;