XXIII. Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, Well might her paleness terror speak! For there were seen, in that dark wall, Two hagard monks stood motionless; Who, holding high a blazing torch, Reflecting back the smoky beam, The dark-red walls and arches gleam. Hewn stones and cement were display'd, And building tools in order laid. XXIV. These executioners were chose, As men who were with mankind foes, And with despite and envy fired, Or who, in desperate doubt of grace, Strove, by deep penance, to efface Of some foul crime the stain; For, as the vassals of her will, Such men the Church selected still, As either joy'd in doing ill, Or thought more grace to gain, Feelings their nature strove to own. They knew not how, nor knew not where. XXV. And now that blind old Abbot rose, To speak the Chapter's doom, On those the wall was to inclose, But stopp'd, because that woeful Maid, Gathering her powers, to speak essay'd. You seem'd to hear a distant rill- A tempest there you scarce could hear, So massive were the walls. XXVI. At length, an effort sent apart The blood that curdled to her heart, And light came to her eye, And colour dawn'd upon her cheek, A hectic and a flutter'd streak, Like that left on the Cheviot peak, By Autumn's stormy sky; And when her silence broke at length, Still as she spoke, she gather'd strength, And arm'd herself to bear. It was a fearful sight to see Such high resolve and constancy, In form so soft and fair. XXVII. "I speak not to implore your grace; "Well know I, for one minute's space "Successless might I sue: "Nor do I speak your prayers to gain; "For if a death of lingering pain, "To cleanse my sins, be penance vain, "Vain are your masses too. "I listen'd to a traitor's tale, "I left the convent and the veil, "For three long years I bow'd my pride, "A horse-boy in his train to ride; "All here, and all beyond the grave. "He saw young Clara's face more fair, "But did my fate and wish agree, "Ne'er had been read, in story old, “Of maiden true betray'd for gold, "That loved, or was avenged, like me! XXVIII. "The King approved his favourite's aim; "In vain a rival barr'd his claim, “Whose faith with Clare's was plight, |