Form thy lips in a silent prayer.
Were Raphael here with his noble skill,
No fairer Mary could canvas fill.
Raise thine eyes with a look of dread;
A sabre waves o'er thine upturned head!
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Fall on thy knees near that marble wall;
Toss round thy waist this silken shawl;
Hold this crucifix to thy lips
Like dying saint who the chalice sips;
Look thou as pale as the queen of night;
Let a tear falling just dim thy sight.
Surely St. Agnes would never have died,
Hadst thou as martyr thus knelt at her side.
Now lay thee down on the damask bed;
Blush in those cheeks, whose roses have fled;
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