 | Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems |  |
3.
It was the story of a Knight,
Prisoner in a haunted castle,
Where, from eve till morning light,
Evil spirits held their wassail;
He was pious, and his prayer
Kept the demon from his bed,—
But he heard it everywhere—
Heard its whisper, heard its tread;
Sometimes, with a stealthy brushing,
Like a cat it crept around;
Sometimes like a strong wing's rushing
Came the heart-appalling sound;—
Sometimes underneath his feet,
Like a slimy serpent twining,—
Once he turned his foe to meet,
And saw its eyes like hot coals shining,—
But it vanished with a growl,
Short and fierce like stifled howl!
Prisoner in a haunted castle,
Where, from eve till morning light,
Evil spirits held their wassail;
He was pious, and his prayer
Kept the demon from his bed,—
But he heard it everywhere—
Heard its whisper, heard its tread;
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Like a cat it crept around;
Sometimes like a strong wing's rushing
Came the heart-appalling sound;—
Sometimes underneath his feet,
Like a slimy serpent twining,—
Once he turned his foe to meet,
And saw its eyes like hot coals shining,—
But it vanished with a growl,
Short and fierce like stifled howl!
Then the mother told her child,
While she listened, wonder wild,—
How at length the Knight was taught,
By an angel from above,
That if he would fix his thought,
In a prayer of faith and love,
At the close of every hour,
Till the clock had ceased its sound,
Never a demon would have the power
Even to enter the castle's bound.
“And,” her mother said, “he breathed the prayer,
And never again was the demon there.
So, Grace, would you conquer the Evil power,
Be sure and pray at each passing hour.”
While she listened, wonder wild,—
How at length the Knight was taught,
By an angel from above,
That if he would fix his thought,
In a prayer of faith and love,
At the close of every hour,
Till the clock had ceased its sound,
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Even to enter the castle's bound.
“And,” her mother said, “he breathed the prayer,
And never again was the demon there.
So, Grace, would you conquer the Evil power,
Be sure and pray at each passing hour.”
| Three hours ; or, the vigil of love : and other poems | |