 | The bridal of Vaumond |  |
143
V.
O many a winding stair doth leadTo that chapel where they shall be wed.
The lady to her lover clung,
For damps and glooms around them hung;
Torches threw round a dusky glare,
But no living soul was there.
Of solid rock was hewn each step,
In days to song unknown;
Their records all in mystery sleep,
And their memorial gone.
But on the arching walls were trac'd
Strange characters, yet uneffac'd,
And symbol wild, that all the lore
Of clerks all vainly might explore.
| The bridal of Vaumond | |