[Poems by Tabb in] Father Tabb a study of his life and works with uncollected and unpublished poems |
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THE MINIATURE |
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 | [Poems by Tabb in] Father Tabb |  |
209
THE MINIATURE
I know not whence; but on the morning air
A ghastly whisper pales my waking cheek;
A shudder in its warning seems to speak,
“Beware!”
A ghastly whisper pales my waking cheek;
A shudder in its warning seems to speak,
“Beware!”
I woke: the wind at intervals,
A mournful vigil kept,
As o'er a sepulchre, around
The chamber where I slept.
The casement rattled in the blast,
The breathing curtains stirred;
Anon, throughout their shroudy length,
A stifled sigh was heard—
A brooding dread, low whispering
In mystic monotone—
“It was a deed of darkness,
And in the darkness done.”
A mournful vigil kept,
As o'er a sepulchre, around
The chamber where I slept.
The casement rattled in the blast,
The breathing curtains stirred;
Anon, throughout their shroudy length,
A stifled sigh was heard—
A brooding dread, low whispering
In mystic monotone—
“It was a deed of darkness,
And in the darkness done.”
Again at noon, but thinner, faintlier, there
As spent with vigil, heaves a stifled sigh
(I turn to see; but nothing meets the eye)
“Beware!”
As spent with vigil, heaves a stifled sigh
(I turn to see; but nothing meets the eye)
“Beware!”
The pallor of a wasted lamp,
A fitful glimmer flung
Athwart a miniature above
The sculptured mantel hung,
Where gleams of melancholy light,
With conscious shadows wrought
Upon the lineaments portrayed
A malady of thought—
A dim-remembered agony,
Interpreting the tone—
“It was a deed of darkness,
And in the darkness done!”
A fitful glimmer flung
Athwart a miniature above
The sculptured mantel hung,
Where gleams of melancholy light,
With conscious shadows wrought
Upon the lineaments portrayed
210
A dim-remembered agony,
Interpreting the tone—
“It was a deed of darkness,
And in the darkness done!”
At twilight grim, in nature's dumb despair,
As swoops the prowling darkness of the day,
Throbs, in a sudden torment of dismay,
“Beware!”
As swoops the prowling darkness of the day,
Throbs, in a sudden torment of dismay,
“Beware!”
Aghast, I listened, motionless,
When lo! a chilling sound—
The vague pulsation of a heart
Beneath a mortal wound—
And from the picture quivering,
As smitten wan with pain
Dark, stormy drops fell suddenly
As a reluctant rain:
And still the moaning monody
Rhymed on in undertone—
“It was a deed of darkness
And in the darkness done.”
When lo! a chilling sound—
The vague pulsation of a heart
Beneath a mortal wound—
And from the picture quivering,
As smitten wan with pain
Dark, stormy drops fell suddenly
As a reluctant rain:
And still the moaning monody
Rhymed on in undertone—
“It was a deed of darkness
And in the darkness done.”
At midnight, like an incantation drear,
The hollow tide in broken thunder-tone
Sobs, with the beating of my heart, a groan,
“Beware!”
The hollow tide in broken thunder-tone
Sobs, with the beating of my heart, a groan,
“Beware!”
The spectral eyes drooped languidly,
The hand convulsive clung,
The bell of midnight clashed the hour
With stern prophetic tongue;
Then, all was blank—oblivious
In icy calm I lay—
The morning whitened to behold
My raven tresses gray;
And beats forever on my brain
The throbbing monotone—
“It was a deed of darkness
And in the darkness done.”
The hand convulsive clung,
The bell of midnight clashed the hour
With stern prophetic tongue;
Then, all was blank—oblivious
In icy calm I lay—
The morning whitened to behold
My raven tresses gray;
And beats forever on my brain
The throbbing monotone—
“It was a deed of darkness
And in the darkness done.”
211
Thus, as a strain bewildered, everywhere,
The trooping echoes of a formless fear,
Like startled phantoms, flock upon my ear,
“Beware!”
The trooping echoes of a formless fear,
Like startled phantoms, flock upon my ear,
“Beware!”
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