• She opened the packet heedfully;
• The blood was stiff, and it scarce might be.
• She found but a folded paper there,
• And round it, twined with tenderest care,
• 240A long bright tress of golden hair.

• Even as she looked, she saw again
• That dark-haired face in its swoon of pain:
• It seemed a snake with a golden sheath
• Crept near, as a slow flame flickereth,
• And stung her daughter's heart to death.

• She loosed the tress, but her hand did shake
• As though indeed she had touched a snake;
• And next she undid the paper's fold,
• But that too trembled in her hold,
• 250And the sense scarce grasped the tale it told.

• “My heart's sweet lord,” ('twas thus she read,)
• “At length our love is garlanded.
• “At Holy Cross, within eight days' space,
• “I seek my shrift; and the time and place
• “Shall fit thee too for thy soul's good grace.

• “From Holycleugh on the seventh day
• “My brother rides, and bides away:
• “And long or e 'er he is back, mine own,
• “Afar where the face of fear's unknown
• 260 “We shall be safe with our love alone.

• “Ere yet at the shrine my knees I bow,
• “I shear one tress for our holy vow.
• “As round these words these threads I wind,
• “So, eight days hence, shall our loves be twined,
• “Says my lord's poor lady, Jocelind.”