 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
XIII.
SONG CONTINUED.
Now the home, by whirlwinds sever'd,
Leaves no mournful wreck behind;
Now before yon altar, shiver'd,
None a resting-place may find.
Leaves no mournful wreck behind;
Now before yon altar, shiver'd,
None a resting-place may find.
Saint, nor miracle, nor spell
Save thee, priest, or sinner pale;
'Tis the jubilee of hell!
'Tis the hour when WE prevail!
Save thee, priest, or sinner pale;
'Tis the jubilee of hell!
'Tis the hour when WE prevail!
Now from smoking ruins glaring
Where the wand'rer sought his home,
In his anguish, wildly staring,
Mock we at the wretch's doom.
Where the wand'rer sought his home,
In his anguish, wildly staring,
Mock we at the wretch's doom.
116
Now, in flame or flood, exulting,
Jest we with the dying cry;
O'er the struggling wretch insulting,
We enjoy his latest sigh.
Jest we with the dying cry;
O'er the struggling wretch insulting,
We enjoy his latest sigh.
| The bridal of Vaumond | |