Poems, 1799 | Page 2

heaps
Of withered
yew-leaves and earth-mouldering bones;
And shining in the ray was
seen the track
Of slimy snail obscene. Composed his look,
His eye
was large and rayless, and fix'd full
Upon the Maid; the blue flames
on his face
Stream'd a pale light; his face was of the hue
Of death;
his limbs were mantled in a shroud.
Then with a deep heart-terrifying voice,
Exclaim'd the 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