 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
92
VIII.
And near him a dark figure stoodProclaim'd at once of robber brood;
His form was girt in sable cloak,
Save where a dagger's handle broke
Its folds:—upon his front, above
The darkly shadow'd brow,
Where the pale taper's gleamings move
So fitful, wildly now,
Nature and fate conspired to write
‘Murder’ in characters of night.
Th' inthrall'd had spoke—the robber's hand
In sternly confident command
Now pointed to his lip,—then prest
The poniard's hilt beneath his vest;
Then show'd a rude and scanty store
Of captive's fare upon the floor;
And springing through a narrow door,
It clos'd the ruffians, step behind;
Bolts, locks, nor bars its fast'nings bind,—
A spring without alone may ope
The path to freedom, light, and hope!
| The bridal of Vaumond | |