Denzil place a story in verse. By Violet Fane [i.e. M. M. Lamb] |
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 | Denzil place |  |
Her head was aching, and she seem'd to hear
The jingling southern chimes, now faint and low,
Now clanging with a harsh and angry tone,
And hammering a fierce discordant knell
Into her fever'd brain. The empty room
Seem'd full of chatt'ring strangers, pressing on
Into her presence; thro' the bolted doors
They seem'd to crowd and elbow one another—
She did not fear them, but she wonder'd why
The world had grown so small—so populous,
So noisy, and so sadly wearisome!—
She wonder'd at a thousand other things
Which had not seem'd so wonderful before
Compared this thing with that, and multiplied,
Subtracted—added—till her mind became
A prison-house of figures, struggling all
To make some given number. Then the twos
And threes and fours all suddenly became
Huge human forms; amazed and terrified,
She call'd for help against these horrid shapes,
And when the frighten'd servants heard her cries
They hasten'd to her, finding her alone
But raving in a fever; all her mind
Distorted, wand'ring and delirious,—
The secrets of her inmost soul let loose,
She call'd to Geoffrey, with a piteous cry,—
“Come back to me! deserted and alone
“I wander thro' the world and look for you!
“So desolate—so lonely—and so cold!”
(And here she shudder'd), then she rambled on
Of Roland and Sir John.
The jingling southern chimes, now faint and low,
Now clanging with a harsh and angry tone,
And hammering a fierce discordant knell
Into her fever'd brain. The empty room
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Into her presence; thro' the bolted doors
They seem'd to crowd and elbow one another—
She did not fear them, but she wonder'd why
The world had grown so small—so populous,
So noisy, and so sadly wearisome!—
She wonder'd at a thousand other things
Which had not seem'd so wonderful before
Compared this thing with that, and multiplied,
Subtracted—added—till her mind became
A prison-house of figures, struggling all
To make some given number. Then the twos
And threes and fours all suddenly became
Huge human forms; amazed and terrified,
She call'd for help against these horrid shapes,
And when the frighten'd servants heard her cries
They hasten'd to her, finding her alone
But raving in a fever; all her mind
Distorted, wand'ring and delirious,—
The secrets of her inmost soul let loose,
She call'd to Geoffrey, with a piteous cry,—
“Come back to me! deserted and alone
“I wander thro' the world and look for you!
“So desolate—so lonely—and so cold!”
150
Of Roland and Sir John.
The doctor came,
And bled her, as Italian doctors bleed
Whenever they can find a fit excuse
To use their lancets. Then her auburn hair
He roughly cut with scissors, lest its weight
Should add towards the fever in her brain.
And bled her, as Italian doctors bleed
Whenever they can find a fit excuse
To use their lancets. Then her auburn hair
He roughly cut with scissors, lest its weight
Should add towards the fever in her brain.
| Denzil place | |