 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
XX.
Hark! Mercy of Heaven! what tumult and noiseDisturb, as to threaten, the dawn of their joys?
Those yells, and those shouts, that incessantly swell, —
What are they the sound of his welcome to Hell?
And are the fiends so jovial there they cleave
The broad disparting orb with horrid sound
Of general clamour, from their inmost cave,
That sons of earth may hear the wild rebound?
No! 'tis the offspring of Fancy, begot by Alarm,
In perilous hour, and produced by a charm,
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Fantastic and varying, as ghost tempest-torn!
Far other import those clamours contain —
'Tis the Band of the Chieftain! they rush in amain;
They had heard his loud cry — but, all too late,
Came to save him from his fate!
And now they vow, with general breath,
To avenge their chief, or rush on death!
But Gunilda hath met them — and rages and raves,
Despising their menace high;
Fierce as a fury, and wild as the waves
Tost into the turbulent sky!
| The Legend of St. Loy | |