Message #191854

[Victoria Liss]

But she, Isolt the Fair, beholding him
She lov'd dead at her feet, and him she loath'd
Holding the sword, rais'd such a storm as husht
The outcry of those twain in hiding there,
And swiftly moving to the casement's edge,
And shrieking, "Him I follow whom I love,"
Leapt into that white surge which foam'd below,
And past to judgement as the sinful pass.