—’Tis Bernal, lady, thine of France:
He seeks thy smile to share.’
From couch of gold she reached the floor
And rent her vestment gay,
And as she gently opened the door
It quenched her taper’s ray.
His clay cold hand she seized him by
And led him to her bower!
—‘Love, tremble not: within our sky
No clouds of sorrow lower.’