"No marvel, sovran lady! in fair field,

⁠Myself for such a face had boldly died,"
I answered free, and turning I appealed
⁠To one that stood beside.

But she, with sick and scornful looks averse,

⁠To her full height her stately stature draws;
"My youth," she said, "was blasted with a curse:
⁠This woman was the cause.

"I was cut off from hope in that sad place,

⁠Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears:
My father held his hand upon his face;
⁠I, blinded with my tears,

"Still strove to speak—my voice was thick with sighs

⁠As in a dream. Dimly I could descry
The stern blackbearded kings with wolfish eyes,
⁠Waiting to see me die.