Iii

O treachery! O lust of blood! Angelica! That one so fair should be so vile! No more for me again shall smile The brows of Beauty! As of old, With clarion call, No more shall Battle make me bold! Or Chivalry fire my soul!... The wood,-- Away from all, From love and lust,--shall house and hold My misery!... The dawn breaks cold! And I lie naked on the wold, Angelica!