Tales of Terror :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Oh, brother! receive the farewell of that throng,
“Which with thee so oft to the altar has trod!
“And may Heaven for peace and retirement prolong
“A life so devoted to virtue and God!

“Though now as a hermit you seek to conceal
“That head which the cowl of an Abbot has worn,
“Yet ne'er shall oblivion our gratitude steal
“From one, who such power so humbly has borne.

151

“Then, brother! receive the farewell of that throng,
“Which with thee so oft to the altar has trod!
“And may Heaven for peace and retirement prolong
“A life so devoted to virtue and God.

Such, such are the sounds, which the breath of the morn
Has wafted from Leiston's high-turreted gate;
Oh, list! 'tis the chant of the monks that is borne—
—“Farewell to the Hermit, our Abbot so late!”

—“Now cease ye, my brethren, now cease, I beseech,
“Nor disturb with your praises humility's hour!
“I leave for the hermitage cell on the beach
“The pride, and the pomp, and the splendour of pow'r!”

Oh! mark ye his visage—now would ye not swear
That Humility's self sat enshrin'd as ye view?
Oh! mark ye how meekly he whispers a pray'r,
As the friars chant forth the responsive adieu.

The monks have retir'd, and the portals are clos'd!
—“And now, Rosophia, thy charms shall be mine!
“For thee and for gold was each penance impos'd,
“For thee and for gold did I bow to each shrine!

152

“Imposture, I thank thee!—You dupes then believ'd
“That for God and the Virgin this abbey I trod!
“For God and the Virgin? they were not deceiv'd,
“For the maid was my virgin and gold was my God!

“When the greybeard refus'd to consent to the love
“Of one who was burden'd with poverty's chain,
“I withdrew to these cloisters; three years have I strove,
“And at length have succeeded this treasure to gain.

“This casket, which now from the convent I bear,
“Contains ev'ry off'ring the pious have paid;
“When old Tibalt has seen it he'll list to my pray'r,
“And yield to my wishes the struggle-ing maid.

“Adieu, then, old Leiston! Thanks, thanks for your aid!
“Thanks, thanks for the treasure, from thee which I drew!
“Adieu, as I hasten to joy and the maid,
“To thee and thy patron, St. Francis, adieu!”

Still speaking he hastens, no sigh will he breathe,
No tear of compunction o'er Leiston he'll shed,
When high on the ridge of dark Dunwich's heath
He throws a last gaze on her pinnacled head.

153

Still onward he presses; each passion is rous'd,
Love, hope, fear and av'rice, his footsteps impel;
And ere the dim prospect in twilight has clos'd,
He is far from the sound of the old vesper-bell.

Suspicion awakens; in vain for their store
The monks through each nook of the sacristy seek!
For where are the alms to dispense 'mid the poor?
And where are the jewels our Lady to deck?

Now, now then the cloud of deceit is no more,
The gauze of delusion indignant they tear!
And now with what speed do they fly to the shore,
And search all the cell—but no Kenric is there!

For Kenric afar, in the banqueting hall,
Repeats to Sir Tibalt the claims of his love;
And hopes, as he leads the poor maid through the hall,
By the blaze of his treasure her passion to move.

But in vain is his gold, and in vain is his pray'r!—
—“Oh, Tibalt,” he cries, “she will never be mine!”—
—“Oh, cheer thee, Sir Henric, now do not despair;
“To-morrow my daughter, perforce, shall be thine.”

154

The morrow was come, and the tremble-ing maid
Was dragg'd to the altar, the rite had begun,—
When sudden a light 'round the revellers play'd,
A blaze, but it was not the blaze of the sun.

And, oh! 'tis St. Francis's radiant form,
Which high o'er the altar, suspended in air,
Addresses the Abbot, who, trembling and warm,
'Twixt fear and contrition half mutters a pray'r!

“Thou wretch,” quoth the figure, “my vengeance beware!
“St. Francis's vengeance thou quickly shalt prove!
“Oh, did you not vow to relinquish for pray'r
“The world and the pleasures of wedlock and love?

“Yet now, so forgetful of Leiston and me,
“At the shrine of forbidden enjoyment you bow!
“Shall crime heap'd on crime pass unpunish'd and free?
“Remember the plunder, remember thy vow!”

While still spoke the saint, hot and fiery burn'd
The casket which still round the Abbot was slung!
Still, still it increas'd! and wherever he turn'd,
A heavy, still heavier burden it hung!

155

And now while the guests rush'd in fear from the gate,
And while pale Rosophia all motionless fell,
Earth open'd! and Kenric, borne down by the weight,
Sank heavy and hot to the tortures of hell!

And still ev'ry peasant of Leiston can teach
How lights often flit on the wings of the gale!
And the lover, while passing the cell on the beach,
Will explain to some new Rosophia the tale.

Leiston Abbey is a beautiful ruin near the coast of Suffolk; on the neighbouring beach are still visible the remains of a chapel, supposed to have belonged formerly to a hermitage.