PART III.
Reading edition
With pallid check, dishevelled hair, and wildly gleaming eyes,
Once more before the banquetters, a fearful phantom flies!
Once more at Herod’s feet it falls, and cold with nameless dread
The wondering monarch bends to hear. A voice, as from the dead,
From those pale lips, shrieks madly forth,—“Thy promise, king, I claim,
And if the grant be foulest guilt,—not mine,—not mine the blame!
Quick, quick recall that reckless vow, or strike thy dagger here,
Ere yet this voice demand a gift that chills my soul with fear!
Heaven’s curse upon the fatal grace that idly charmed thine eyes!
Oh! better had I ne’er been born than be the sacrifice!
The word I speak will blanch thy cheek, if human heart be thine,
It was a fiend in human form that murmured it to mine.
To die for me! a thoughtless child! for me must blood be shed!
Bend low,—lest angels hear me ask!—oh! God!—the Baptist’s head!”