Bride of Crescentius! as the throng
Bore thee with whelming force along,
How did thine anxious heart beat high,
Till rose suspense to agony!—
Too brief suspense, that soon shall close,
And leave thy heart to deeper woes.
Who midst yon guarded precinct stands,
With fearless mien but fetter’d hands?
The ministers of death are nigh,
Yet a calm grandeur lights his eye;