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Omne quod moestis habuit miserto
Longius sed tu fuge curiosus
Spe tremescentes recubant in illst
Inter marmoreas Leonora pendula colles
Quas manibus premit ilia duas insensa papillas
'Twas dead of the night when I sat in my dwelling;
One glimmering lamp was expiring and low; Around, the dark tide of the tempest was swelling; Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling—
They bodingly presaged destruction and woe.
'Twas then that I started! The wild storm was howling; Nought was seen save the lightning that danced in the sky;
Above me the crash of the thunder was rolling;
Of the battling clouds on the mountain-tops broke;
But conscience in low noiseless whispering spoke.
'Twas then that, her form on the whirlwind upholding,
The ghost of the murdered Victoria strode:
She swiftly advanced to my lonesome abode.
v. I wildly then called on the tempest to hear me
1. The death-bell beats!—the mountain repeats
The echoing sound of the knell: And the dark Monk now wraps the cowl round his brow,
As he sits in his lonely cell.
And the cold hand of Death chills his shuddering breath
As he lists to the fearful lay
Sing to departed day;
To resolve Rosa's form to its clay.
Of peace to the dark Monk's brain.
And he strove to suppress them in vain.
Then his fair cross of gold he dashed on the floor
"Delight is in store for her evermore—
Then his eyes wildly rolled when the death-bell tolled,
And he raged in terrific woe, And he stamped on the ground; but, when ceased the sound,
Tears again began to flow.
And the ice of despair chilled the wild throb of care;
And he sate in mute agony still,
And the pale moonbeam slept on the hill.
Were delights, to his agonized pain;
Which else must for ever remain.
Till the abbey-bell struck one.
"The term of thy penance is done!"
Grew dark the night—the moonbeam bright
Waxed faint on the mountain high;
"Monk, thou art free to die!"
Then he rose on his feet, and his heart loud did beat,
Whilst the grave's clammy dew o'er his pale forehead grew,
And the wild midnight storm raved around his tall form,
As he sought the chapel's gloom; And the sunk grass did sigh to the wind bleak and high
As he searched for the new-made tomb.
And the forms dark and high seemed around him to fly,
And mingle their yells with the blast;
As enhorrored he onward passed.
And the storm-fiends wild rave o'er the new-made grave,
And dread shadows linger around.
And in horror sank on the ground.
Then despair nerved his arm to dispel the charm,
And he burst Rosa's coffin asunder;
And louder pealed the thunder.
xv. And laughed in joy the fiendish throng,
Mixed with ghosts of the mouldering dead; And their grisly wings as they floated along
Whistled in murmurs dread.
And her skeleton form the dead Nun reared,
But each power was nerved by fear.
The grave yawns—we meet there."
So deadly, so lone, and so fell,
A deep groan was answered from Hell. 1808.
Ah! faint are her limbs, and her footstep is weary,
Though the tempest is stern, and the mountain is dreary,
I see her swift foot dash the dew from the whortle,
As she rapidly hastes to the green grove of myrtle;
And I hear, as she wraps round her figure the kirtle: "Stay thy boat on the lake: dearest Henry, I come!"
High swelled in her bosom the throb of affection,
As lightly her form bounded over the lea,
"I come, dearest Henry, and wait but for thee!"
Is the ster n voice of Fate that bids happiness flee!
Oh! dark loured the clouds on that horrible eve,
And the moon dimly gleamed through the tempested air. Oh! how could false visions such softness deceive?
Oh! how could false hope rend a bosom so fair? Thy love's pallid corse the wild surges are laving; O'er his form the fierce swell of the tempest is raving. But fear not, parting spirit! Thy goodness is saving
In eternity's bowers a seat for thee there.