The Legend of St. Loy With Other Poems. By John Abraham Heraud |
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VIII. |
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XIII. | XIII. |
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The Legend of St. Loy | ||
XIII.
Wild was the shock, and fierce, and rude,Of the blasts echoing through the wood,
That rocked the Bandit's dark abode,
As earthquake swept the ground!
And then were sounds of horror there,
Shrill shriek, and groan of harsher fear,
That pierced and stunned the assaulted ear,
Confusedly all around:
But yet, those sounds seemed not of woe,
But rather the unruly shew
Of uncouth joy o'er fallen foe,
And wassail triumph wild! —
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As though the fiends were rushing in,
Howbeit the actors were unseen,
Mysteriously enveiled!
At once it ceased! — 'tis silence all,
Whose very stillness doth appal,
And hold the wildered mind in thrall,
Conjecture strange and dark.
When lo! — a rushing gleam appeared,
And as a form of light unsphered,
A Spirit for a moment glared,
Then flitted like a spark!
But oh! within that Sybil's arms,
What hath it left? — of cherub charms,
A lovely Babe, that cheerly smiled,
Amid that scene of terror wild!
Aloft she holds the Infant fair,
But fixed, and haggardly severe,
Her brow of frowns on Lothbroch lours,
As though 'twould wither all his powers.
The Legend of St. Loy | ||