IV. On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o'er the mountain Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead; On the mist of the tempest which hangs o'er the fountain, Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head. NUMBER 3.-BALLAD. I. THE death-bell beats! The mountain repeats The echoing sound of the knell; Wraps the cowl round his brow, II. And the cold hand of death And they sing of the hour III. But that hour is past; And that hour was the last Of peace to the dark monk's brain. Bitter tears from his eyes gushed silent and fast; And he strove to suppress them in vain. IV. Then his fair cross of gold he dashed on the floor, When the death-knell struck on his ear. 66 Delight is in store For her evermore; But for me is fate, horror, and fear." V. Then his eyes wildly rolled, VI. And the ice of despair Chilled the wild throb of care, And he sate in mute agony still; Till the night-stars shone through the cloudless air, And the pale moon-beam slept on the hill. VII. Then he knelt in his cell; And the horrors of hell Were delights to his agonized pain, And he prayed to God to dissolve the spell, Which else must for ever remain. VIII. And in fervent prayer he knelt on the ground, Till the abbey bell struck One: His feverish blood ran chill at the sound: A voice hollow and horrible murmured around 66 The term of thy penance is done!" IX. Grew dark the night; The moon-beam bright Waxed faint on the mountain high; 66 Went a voice cold and still,— Monk! thou art free to die." X. Then he rose on his feet, And his heart loud did beat, And his limbs they were palsied with dread; Whilst the grave's clammy dew O'er his pale forehead grew; And he shuddered to sleep with the dead. XI. And the wild midnight storm To the wind, bleak and high, XII. And forms, dark and high, And mingle their yells with the blast: Half-seen shadows did fall, As enhorrored he onward passed. XIII. And the storm-fiend's wild rave And dread shadows, linger around. The Monk called on God his soul to save, And in horror, sank on the ground. XIV. Then despair nerved his arm And he burst Rosa's coffin asunder. And louder pealed the thunder. XV. And laughed, in joy, the fiendish throng, XVI. And her skeleton form the dead Nun reared, And triumphant their gleam on the dark Monk glared, As he stood within the cell. XVII. And her lank hand lay on his shuddering brain; XVIII. And her skeleton lungs did utter the sound, So deadly, so lone, and so fell, That in long vibrations shuddered the ground; NUMBER 4.-SONG. I. How swiftly through heaven's wide expanse Bright day's resplendent colours fade! How sweetly does the moonbeam's glance With silver tint St. Irvyne's glade! II. No cloud along the spangled air, III. Yon dark grey turret glimmers white, IV. But not alone on Irvyne's tower, V. ray; "Ah! why do darkening shades conceal |