That scarce is fit for you to hear,
Her manners had not that repose
That stamps the caste of Vere de Vere.
"Lady Clara Vere de Vere,
There stands a specter in your hall:
The guilt of blood is at your door,
You changed a wholesome heart to gall.
You held your course without remorse
To make him trust his modest worth,
And last, you fixed a vacant stare,