“I am ill, Lady Leonora, very ill,” said Blanche, breathing shortly and throwing herself upon a couch.
“Oh! a consuming fire flies through my veins. Give me some drink. How I thirst!”
The Lady Leonora, though skilled in the leech-craft of the time, was utterly at a loss, and what to do for Blanche she did not know. There was no leech or friar in the castle. For a few minutes she gave her wine and water to assuage her raging thirst, and bathed her burning temples.
Suddenly Blanche raised herself to a sitting position, and while her face was convulsed with agony, exclaimed—
“Beware Leonora, I am poisoned by——”
This world and all its sorrows had passed away from her, and her pure spirit, freed from the material fetters of this earthly life, had reached its eyrie, basked in the pure light, far above the storm and darkness of the valley.
LINES TO A BIRD,
WHICH SUNG AT MY WINDOW ONE MORNING IN LONDON.
———