He clasped her sleeping to his heart,

And listened to each broken word:

He hears—Why doth Prince Azo start,

As if the Archangel's voice he heard?

And well he may—a deeper doom

Could scarcely thunder o'er his tomb,

When he shall wake to sleep no more,

And stand the eternal throne before.

And well he may—his earthly peace

Upon that sound is doomed to cease. 90

That sleeping whisper of a name

Bespeaks her guilt and Azo's shame.

And whose that name? that o'er his pillow

Sounds fearful as the breaking billow,

Which rolls the plank upon the shore,

And dashes on the pointed rock

The wretch who sinks to rise no more,—

So came upon his soul the shock.

And whose that name?—'tis Hugo's,—his—

In sooth he had not deemed of this!— 100

'Tis Hugo's,—he, the child of one

He loved—his own all-evil son—

The offspring of his wayward youth,

When he betrayed Bianca's truth,[ra] [416]

The maid whose folly could confide

In him who made her not his bride.