The husband-lover;--soon they dreamed,--
Her lips still murmuring his name
In sleep,--while, as to guard her, fell
His arm across her bosom's swell.

The low wind shook the darkened pane,
The far clock chimed along the hall,
There came a moment's gust of rain,
The swallow chirped a single call
From his eaves'-nest, the elm-bough swayed
Moaning;--they slumbered unafraid.

Without a creak the chamber-door
Crept open!--with a cat-like tread,
Shading his lamp with hand that bore
A dagger, came beside their bed
The Count. His hair was tinged with gray:
Gold locks brown-mixed before him lay.

A thrust,--a groan,--a fearful scream,
As from the peace of love's sweet rest
She starts!--O God! what horrid dream
Swells her bound eyeballs? From her breast
Fall off the garments of the night,--
A red hand strikes her bosom's white!

She knew no more that passed; her ear
Caught not the hurried cries,--the rush
Of the scared household,--nor could hear
The voice that broke the after-hush:--