That spirit in so fair a mould,
As if a rose-tree’s tender form,
Unbent, unbroke, should meet the storm.
One look she cast, where firmness strove
With the deep pangs of parting love;
One tear a moment in her eye
Dimm’d the pure light of constancy;
And pressing, as to still her heart,
She turn’d in silence to depart.
But Ulric, as to frenzy wrought,