Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

1. Allan entering the Abbey-chapel, meeting there an old Woman employed in sweeping the Pews—The old Woman relates to Allan the History of the House of Landor—Describes the late Lord—his Mistress—The Fruit of his illicit Amour, Laura—His Marriage to the Mother of Laura—his Death—The Death of his Lady in Childbed—Her Infant, supposed to be still-born, given in charge to the old Woman by Laura's Aunt—Alice the Aunt prevails with the old Woman by a Bribe to nurse the Infant and suppress the Circumstance of its Recovery to Life—The Infant taken from its Nurse.—2. A Figure very similar to the Picture on Allan's Fancy, gliding through the distant Aisle.—3. Lady Laura, in pursuit of Allan, finds him in the Chapel.

Pensive amidst the grove had Allan stray'd,
Where, frowning thro' a mass of ashen shade,

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Rose, with long cloysters lin'd, a dusky pile;
When strait he cross'd a wall-flower-mantled stile,
Approach'd the unclosing door that mix'd a moan
With every gale, and hail'd a bending crone
Who now with sudden agitation swept
The pews, now pausing from her labour wept.

Struck by the marble monuments sublime,
Here green, there tawny from the touch of time.
Struck by the rich illuminations wide
And pillars by their dim reflection dyed;
Struck by the pond'rous armour that aloof
Thro' cobwebs glimmer'd from the rafter'd roof,
He question'd much the dame, who rais'd her eyes
In mystic silence broken oft by sighs;
Who, yielding to the youth's entreaties, told
Romantic stories of the days of old;
The history of the house of Landor trac'd
From recent stones to tablets half-effac'd;
And, in the trophies from the roof-work, read
Memorials of the venerable dead.

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“There,” (says the crone) “so runs the historic tale—
“To the first earl belong'd that rifted mail;
“The mail which, furious in the fight, he wore
“When in his fortress, red with vital gore,
“To his two sons he gave”—with instant scream
She shudder'd as amidst a frightful dream,
And cried—“that ring”—with wild emotion clasp'd
Her hands, and tottering as in terror grasp'd
The pew.—“Full often have I seen,” (she cries)
“Where in yon oratory yet it lies,
“A kindred ring. There many a lagging year
“I liv'd, and dropp'd the solitary tear;
“Till a dark deed, to blot the fairest fame,
“I witness'd, and alas! partook the shame.
“Long, long—compell'd to fly this cloyster'd gloom—
“I pin'd, and languish'd for my native home;
“But more, far more I panted to disclose
“The dreadful mystery of unutter'd woes.—
“O! if I read aright, to thee belong
“The qualities that claim a trusting tongue.
“A stranger to the hospitable board,
“My late poor master was a travel'd lord.

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“Oft, with my lady, ere the marriage-rite
“Confirm'd their loves, he revel'd thro' the night;
“Nor, till the fruit of lawless love was born,
“A bouncing lass, was fix'd the bridal morn.
“Scarce had nine moons the nuptial day o'erpass'd,
“Ere from debauch his lordship breath'd his last;
“When quickly in the straw my lady died;
“And her poor babe” (the dame exclaim'd and sigh'd)
“With doubtful symptoms of the vital breath
“Thro' me was order'd to the house of death:
“Tho' the base aunt (who what she fear'd believ'd)
“A sign of life with anxious eye perceiv'd,
“And led me to my cot, some deep resolve
“In agony long seeming to revolve;
“Yet, not for murder ripe, if vital air
“It breath'd, consign'd the infant to my care;
“And seal'd, the secret never to unfold,
“These lips, alas! these guilty lips with gold;
“Dispatch'd me to a place obscure and lone,
“And bade me nurse the orphan as my own.
“Still, troubled by her sense of guilt, she paid
“The frequent visit to our quiet shade,

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“And seem'd to catch, amidst the gloom of guile,
“Some comfort from the babe's unconscious smile.
“Thus fleeted a few years; when (dark the day!)
“My little prattler, sudden snatcht away,
“Left me, once more, alas! to silence brib'd,
“To mourn the assassin's stain afresh imbib'd.
“But, if repentance can erase the dyes,
“Hither, at length, I ventur'd in disguise,
“The whole important secret to reveal,
“Should kind occasion but my lips unseal.
“And Heaven, indulgent Heaven my prayers hath heard—
“For not a moon had vanish'd, ere appear'd”—

Faint on her tongue the faultering accents died;
As sudden thro' the dim aisle seem'd to glide
A female, vestur'd in the purest white;
Her fleeting figure gossamery-light;
And Allan in surprize her angel-air
Survey'd, and trembled at her golden hair!

In wonder mute as Allan gaz'd (the maid
Retiring to the chapel's inmost shade)

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To Lady Laura, breathless in pursuit,
Exclaim'd—“Say, whither ran the graceless brute?”
And, resting on a tombstone, flapp'd her fan,
And winc'd about and cried: “Thou slippery man!”—
When a pale statue seem'd to roll its eye,
And breathe along the aisle a deepening sigh;
And, from the corslet, clanking overhead,
A radiance, like a passing spectre, fled.

END OF THE FOURTEENTH CANTO.