He darken'd by her side with honied smile,
And fawning courtesy, and limping stride,
Showing to those who knew the heart, more vile
The baseness that his gilding sought to hide;
But she went on unmoved, and stood the while
Still as a marble statue at his side;
Certes, a terror o'er the spirit crept,
It had been mercy had the lady wept.
XXXV.
Julian heard it, and with passion burning
Sped he to Florence—to the spoiler's den,
Knock'd at the portals, and the lacqueys spurning,
Rush'd into presence of the guilty men,
Father and husband from the church returning,
Alcesté standing by them—paler then,
She thrill'd as though she would have fled to him,
Then calm'd again to stone in every limb.
XXXVI.
He said—"Alcesté!"—he said nothing more,
But gazed a space into her melting eyes
So woefully, her poor heart flutter'd sore,
Like a caged lark that thrills to mount the skies.
He said, "Is this the bliss we pictured o'er?
"Is this the rapture, this the Paradise?
"O perjured vows! O cruel love!" he said,
"Thus at a blow to strike hope's spirit dead."
XXXVII.
He said, "Shame on a venal love like thine,
"That barters truth for every gilded toy;
"Shame on the heart that kneels at mammon's shrine,
"There calmly immolates another's joy;
"Shame on the tongue that breathes in tones divine
"Sweet vows, that on the fond soul never cloy,
"Then with their echoes faded scarce away,
"The victim of their magic can betray!"