In the warm foldings of a heart,           

             Perforce it must remain.           

                        

            

            

       VII.     

             Come, Magdalen, and bind my hair,           

             And put me on my sad array;           

             I to my father's house repair,           

             And hear his final doom to-day.           

                        

             But wrap me in that cypress veil;           

             At first his eye I would not brave,           

             'Till he shall bid the mourner hail,           

             And knows I come from Edwin's grave.           

                        

             I, late his boast, his heir, his pride,           

             Must like a guilty vassal kneel;           

             I, who was gallant Edwin's bride,           

             Must to my widow'd state appeal!           

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