Roused by the promise of the king, beyond her weak control,
The exulting tempest of Revenge and Pride raged wild and high,
And sent its storm-cloud to her brow, its lightning to her eye!
Her haughty lip was quivering with anger and disdain,
Her beauteous, jewelled hands were clenched, as if from sudden pain.
“Forgive,” Salomé faltering cried, “Forgive my childish glee!
’Twas selfish, vain,—oh! look not thus! but let me ask for thee!”
Then smiled,—it was a deadly smile,—that lady on her child,
And “Swear thou’ll do my bidding, now!” she cried, in accents wild:
“Ah! when, from earliest childhood’s hour, did I thine anger dare!