Queen Galena, Or The Sultan Betrayed

HOLD! let the heartless perjurer go!
Speak not! strike not! he is my foe,
From me, me only, comes the blow--
I will repay him woe for woe;
Look in my eyes! my eyes are dry,
I breathe no plaint, I heave no sigh,
But--will avenge me ere I die.
Think you that I shall basely rest,
And know the bosom mine hath prest,
Is couched upon a colder breast?
Think you that I shall yield the West,
The Orient soul my nature nurst,
Till the black seed of treachery burst
And blossomed to this deed accurst?
My rival! O! her glance is meek,
Her faltering presence wan, and weak
As the faint flush that tints her cheek.
'Tis not on her that I would wreak
My vengeance--sooner would I wring
Life from an insect-birth of spring
Than palter with so poor a thing.
But he--I tell you if he flew,
As it was once his wont to do,
Repentant--Pleading--quick to woo,
With all his wild heart flaming through
The glance of passion--it were sweet,
Yea, more! 'twere righteous, just, and meet,
To slay him kneeling at my feet!
He shall not wed her; by Heaven's light
He shall not; o'er my lurid sight
Throbs a thick fire; the ancient might
Of a stern race is stirred to-night;
My sovereign claim annul--disown!
I will repay him groan for groan,
Or--stab him at the altar-stone!