Look on thy beauteous charge!—why does she yield?"

LX.

Thus secret he, the pearly bracelet holding,
Lending his lip to accents sweetlier bland
The light that clipt him, half the maid enfolding
Half given—tho' dubious half—her lilly hand.

LXI.

Success seemed his;—but secret, in the height
And pride of transport; as he set at nought
And taunts her guardian power; infernal light
Shot from his eye, with guilt and treachery fraught.

Haply it was but Nature:—she bestows
Intuitive preception, and while art
O'ertasks himself with guile, loves to disclose
The dark soul in the eye, to warn th' o'ertrusting heart.

LXII.

Zophiel, howe'er the warning came, was foiled
What torments burned in his unearthly breast!
The while her trembling hand—untouched, recoiled,
That, wild, exulting glance, the wily fiend confest.

LXIII.

Faintly he spoke—"'Tis Meles' step I here,
Guilty thou know'st him—wilt receive him still?"—
The rosy blood driven to her heart by fear
She said, in accents faint, but firm, "I will."

LXIV.