The Death-Wake | Page 6

their leave,?As they did yesterday: another night,?And neither spake awhile--A pure delight?Had chasten'd love's first blushes: silently?Gazed Julio on the gentle Agathè--?At length, "Fair Nun!"--She started, and held fast?Her bright hand on her lip--"the past, the past,?And the pale future! There be some that lie?Under those marble urns--I know not why,?But I were better in that only calm,?Than be as I have been, perhaps, and am.?The past!--ay! it hath perish'd; never, never,?Would I recall it to be blest for ever:?The future it must come--I have a vow"--?And his cold hand rose trembling to his brow.?"True, true, I have a vow. Is not the moon?Abroad, fair Nun?"--"Indeed! so very soon?"?Said Agathè, and "I must then away."--?"Stay, love! 'tis early yet; stay, angel, stay!"?But she was gone:--yet they met many a time?In the lone chapel, after vesper chime--?They met in love and fear.
One weary day,?And Julio saw not his loved Agathè;?She was not in the choir of sisterhood?That sang the evening anthem, and he stood?Like one that listen'd breathlessly awhile;?But stranger voices chanted through the aisle.?She was not there; and, after all were gone,?He linger'd: the stars came--he linger'd on,?Like a dark fun'ral image on the tomb?Of a lost hope. He felt a world of gloom?Upon his heart--a solitude--a chill.?The pale morn rose, and still, he linger'd still.?And the next vesper toll'd; nor yet, nor yet--?"Can Agathè be faithless, and forget?"
It was the third sad eve, he heard it said,?"Poor Julio! thy Agathè is dead,"?And started. He had loiter'd in the train?That bore her to the grave: he saw her lain?In the cold earth, and heard a requiem?Sung over her--To him it was a dream!?A marble stone stood by the sepulchre;?He look'd, and saw, and started--she was there!?And Agathè had died; she that was bright--?She that was in her beauty! a cold blight?Fell over the young blossom of her brow.?And the life-blood grew chill--She is not, now.
She died, like zephyr falling amid flowers!?Like to a star within the twilight hours?Of morning--and she was not! Some have thought?The Lady Abbess gave her a mad draught,?That stole into her heart, and sadly rent?The fine chords of that holy instrument,?Until its music falter'd fast away,?And she--she died,--the lovely Agathè!
Again, and through the arras of the gloom?Are the pale breezes moaning: by her tomb?Bends Julio, like a phantom, and his eye?Is fallen, as the moon-borne tides, that lie?At ebb within the sea. Oh! he is wan,?As winter skies are wan, like ages gone,?And stars unseen for paleness; it is cast,?As foliage in the raving of the blast,?All his fair bloom of thoughts! Is the moon chill,?That in the dark clouds she is mantled still??And over its proud arch hath Heaven flung?A scarf of darkness? Agathè was young!?And there should be the virgin silver there,?The snow-white fringes delicately fair!
He wields a heavy mattock in his hands,?And over him a lonely lanthorn stands?On a near niche, shedding a sickly fall?Of light upon a marble pedestal,?Whereon is chisel'd rudely, the essay?Of untaught tool, "Hic jacet Agathè!"?And Julio hath bent him down in speed,?Like one that doeth an unholy deed.
There is a flagstone lieth heavily?Over the ladye's grave; I wist of three?That bore it, of a blessed verity!?But he hath lifted it in his pure madness,?As it were lightsome as a summer gladness,?And from the carved niche hath ta'en the lamp,?And hung it by the marble flagstone damp.
And he is flinging the dark, chilly mould?Over the gorgeous pavement: 'tis a cold,?Sad grave, and there is many a relic there?Of chalky bones, which, in the wasting air,?Fell smouldering away; and he would dash?His mattock through them, with a cursed clash,?That made the lone aisle echo. But anon?He fell upon a skull,--a haggard one,?With its teeth set, and the great orbless eye?Revolving darkness, like eternity--?And in his hand he held it, till it grew?To have the fleshy features and the hue?Of life. He gazed, and gazed, and it became?Like to his Agathè--all, all the same!?He drew it nearer,--the cold, bony thing!--?To kiss the worm-wet lips. "Ay! let me cling--?Cling to thee now, for ever!" but a breath?Of rank corruption from its jaws of death?Went to his nostrils, and he madly laugh'd,?And dash'd it over on the altar shaft,?Which the new risen moon, in her gray light,?Had fondly flooded, beautifully bright!
Again he went?To his wild work, beside the monument.?"Ha! leave, thou moon! where thy footfall hath been?In sorrow amid heaven! there is sin?Under thy shadow, lying like a dew;?So come thou, from thy awful arch of blue,?Where thou art even as a silver throne?For some pale spectre-king; come thou alone,?Or bring a solitary orphan star?Under thy wings! afar, afar, afar,?To gaze upon this girl of radiancy,?In her deep slumbers--Wake thee, Agathè!"
And Julio hath stolen the dark chest?Where the fair nun lay coffin'd, in the rest?That wakes not up at morning: she is there,?An