V.

    It was the holy vesper hour, The time for rest, and peace, and prayer, When falls the dew, and folds the flower Its petals¹, delicate and fair, Against the chilly² evening air； And yet the bridegroom was not there. The guests, who lingered through the day, Had glided³, one by one, away, And then, with pale and pensive⁴ ray, The moon began to climb the sky, As from the forest, dim and green, A small and silent band was seen Emerging slow and solemnly； With cautious step, and measured tread, They moved as those who bear the dead；

    And by no lip a word was spoke⁵, Nor other sound the silence broke, Save when, low, musical, and clear, The voice of waters passing near, Was softly wafted⁶ to the ear, And the cool, fanning twilight⁷ breeze, That lightly shook the forest trees, And crept from leaf to trembling leaf, Sighed, like to one oppressed with grief. Why move they with such cautious care？

    What precious burden do they bear？ Hush⁸, questioner！ the dead are there；—— The victim of revenge and hate, Of fierce Ottali's fiery⁹ pride, With that stern minister of fate, As cold and lifeless by his side.