Poems, 1799 | Page 2

Spectre, "Welcome to these realms,?These regions of DESPAIR! O thou whose steps?By GRIEF conducted to these sad abodes?Have pierced; welcome, welcome to this gloom?Eternal, to this everlasting night,?Where never morning darts the enlivening ray,?Where never shines the sun, but all is dark,?Dark as the bosom of their gloomy King."
So saying he arose, and by the hand?The Virgin seized with such a death-cold touch?As froze her very heart; and drawing on,?Her, to the abbey's inner ruin, led?Resistless. Thro' the broken roof the moon?Glimmer'd a scatter'd ray; the ivy twined?Round the dismantled column; imaged forms?Of Saints and warlike Chiefs, moss-canker'd now?And mutilate, lay strewn upon the ground,?With crumbled fragments, crucifixes fallen,?And rusted trophies; and amid the heap?Some monument's defaced legend spake?All human glory vain.
The loud blast roar'd?Amid the pile; and from the tower the owl?Scream'd as the tempest shook her secret nest.?He, silent, led her on, and often paus'd,?And pointed, that her eye might contemplate?At leisure the drear scene.
He dragged her on?Thro' a low iron door, down broken stairs;?Then a cold horror thro' the Maiden's frame?Crept, for she stood amid a vault, and saw,?By the sepulchral lamp's dim glaring light,?The fragments of the dead.
"Look here!" he cried,?"Damsel, look here! survey this house of Death;?O soon to tenant it! soon to increase?These trophies of mortality! for hence?Is no return. Gaze here! behold this skull,?These eyeless sockets, and these unflesh'd jaws,?That with their ghastly grinning, seem to mock?Thy perishable charms; for thus thy cheek?Must moulder. Child of Grief! shrinks not thy soul,?Viewing these horrors? trembles not thy heart?At the dread thought, that here its life's-blood soon?Now warm in life and feeling, mingle soon?With the cold clod? a thought most horrible!?So only dreadful, for reality?Is none of suffering here; here all is peace;?No nerve will throb to anguish in the grave.?Dreadful it is to think of losing life;?But having lost, knowledge of loss is not,?Therefore no ill. Haste, Maiden, to repose;?Probe deep the seat of life."
So spake DESPAIR?The vaulted roof echoed his hollow voice,?And all again was silence. Quick her heart?Panted. He drew a dagger from his breast,?And cried again, "Haste Damsel to repose!?One blow, and rest for ever!" On the Fiend?Dark scowl'd the Virgin with indignant eye,?And dash'd the dagger down. He next his heart?Replaced the murderous steel, and drew the Maid?Along the downward vault.
The damp earth gave?A dim sound as they pass'd: the tainted air?Was cold, and heavy with unwholesome dews.?"Behold!" the fiend exclaim'd, "how gradual here?The fleshly burden of mortality?Moulders to clay!" then fixing his broad eye?Full on her face, he pointed where a corpse?Lay livid; she beheld with loathing look,?The spectacle abhorr'd by living man.
"Look here!" DESPAIR pursued, "this loathsome mass?Was once as lovely, and as full of life?As, Damsel! thou art now. Those deep-sunk eyes?Once beam'd the mild light of intelligence,?And where thou seest the pamper'd flesh-worm trail,?Once the white bosom heaved. She fondly thought?That at the hallowed altar, soon the Priest?Should bless her coming union, and the torch?Its joyful lustre o'er the hall of joy,?Cast on her nuptial evening: earth to earth?That Priest consign'd her, and the funeral lamp?Glares on her cold face; for her lover went?By glory lur'd to war, and perish'd there;?Nor she endur'd to live. Ha! fades thy cheek??Dost thou then, Maiden, tremble at the tale??Look here! behold the youthful paramour!?The self-devoted hero!"
Fearfully?The Maid look'd down, and saw the well known face?Of THEODORE! in thoughts unspeakable,?Convulsed with horror, o'er her face she clasp'd?Her cold damp hands: "Shrink not," the Phantom cried,?"Gaze on! for ever gaze!" more firm he grasp'd?Her quivering arm: "this lifeless mouldering clay,?As well thou know'st, was warm with all the glow?Of Youth and Love; this is the arm that cleaved?Salisbury's proud crest, now motionless in death,?Unable to protect the ravaged frame?From the foul Offspring of Mortality?That feed on heroes. Tho' long years were thine,?Yet never more would life reanimate?This murdered man; murdered by thee! for thou?Didst lead him to the battle from his home,?Else living there in peace to good old age:?In thy defence he died: strike deep! destroy?Remorse with Life."
The Maid stood motionless,?And, wistless what she did, with trembling hand?Received the dagger. Starting then, she cried,?"Avaunt DESPAIR! Eternal Wisdom deals?Or peace to man, or misery, for his good?Alike design'd; and shall the Creature cry,?Why hast thou done this? and with impious pride?Destroy the life God gave?"
The Fiend rejoin'd,?"And thou dost deem it impious to destroy?The life God gave? What, Maiden, is the lot?Assigned to mortal man? born but to drag,?Thro' life's long pilgrimage, the wearying load?Of being; care corroded at the heart;?Assail'd by all the numerous train of ills?That flesh inherits; till at length worn out,?This is his consummation!--think again!?What, Maiden, canst thou hope from lengthen'd life?But lengthen'd sorrow? If protracted long,?Till on the bed of death thy feeble limbs?Outstretch their languid length, oh think what thoughts,?What agonizing woes, in that dread