 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
XVIII.
He trac'd the beam—through a rift it stole—He gaz'd—heaven help th' unpardon'd soul!
The pit was deep, and high, and wide—
Blue wreathing flames on every side
Curtain and canopy, unfolding
Upon the eye that ach'd, beholding;
A pageantry, the cheek to blanch,
And freeze the heart of warrior staunch,—
Dire mockery of the festive hall—
The mountain spirits' trysting place;—
The livid glare confounded all
The movements of that damned race;
But earnest strove he to dispel
The mist that on his eyelids fell,
And mark'd he flitting, undefined
Fantastic shapes below,
And round and round again they wind,
All dizzily they go.
And there was of flame a crawling ring
Their giddy goings circuiting;
120
Slimy fold in fold caressing;
Lizards dragg'd their nauseous mire
Creeping countless round the fire;
Living members there he spied,
Sever'd from corses putrified,
And these around the circle leapt;
But from the liquid trunk corrupt,
Where the loathing worm no longer supt,
A myriad slimy insects crept.
| The bridal of Vaumond | |