 | The Legend of St. Loy |  |
XII.
Hark! the sound of rude tumult now thickens in air,With Woman's sad wail and the shriek of Despair!
Wild Triumph and Anguish together were there!
The wolwish noise silenced the blast of the night,
With blasphemy horrid, and fiercer affright:
E'en like the concussion of maritime fight,
That stills the vast tempest which raged just before,
To dead calm the motionless billows all o'er.—
Those Angel wings no more are bright
Throughout that Cell:—they take their flight
Up to the realms of peace and light.
Those sounds of violence rose with yell
As horrible as that of hell,
Which might not bend an Angel's ear,
Unmeet for purity to hear.
25
Sparing not Him on whom unawed no Spirit thinketh.
| The Legend of St. Loy | |