Without was Nature’s elemental din—
And beauty died, and friendship wept, within!
“Sweet Julia, though her fate was finished half,
Still knew him—smiled on him with feeble laugh—
And blessed him, till she drew her latest sigh!
But lo! while Udolph’s bursts of agony,
And age’s tremulous wailings, round him rose,
What accents pierced him deeper yet than those?
’Twas tidings by his English messenger,
Of Constance—brief and terrible they were.