 | CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.
THE COFFIN AND THE CORSE. The Ladye Annabel, or, The doom of the poisoner |  |
THE SONG OF THE ANCIENT MAN.[1]
Dig the grave and dig it deep—
Straight with the mattock dig each side,
Dig it low, and dig it steep—
Dig it long and dig it wide!
As he sang, the old man plunged the spade lustily
into the earth, and throwing aside the large
lumps of clay, he continued with great glee—
Here while ages glide,
Here wrapt within its earthy pall,
Must the crumbling corse abide!
Then raise the chaunt,
Then swell the stave,
Here's to death, all grim and gaunt,
And to his home—the grave!
He wound this up with an unnatural noise,
half shrick, and half yell, and hollow and dread
the dungeon arches gave back the strain.
“He, he, he!—I know a merrier catch than
that! List ye, my noble captain.”
He then made a motion with his hand, as if in
the act of drinking, and then a shout of wild
laughter sounded through the cell.
Drink to the sound of the clanking bone;
Fill high with wine the fleshless skull,
And swell the toast without a moan—
Hurra! for Death with his bony hands,
Hurra! for Death with his skeleton form,
He hold the thunderbolt.—On high he stands,
He mows them down in calm or storm—
He swept his spade around with maniac glee,
and then in a voice louder and shriller, while his
shrunken breast heaved with the wildness of his
emotion, he sang,
Then swell the stave.
Here's to death, all grim and gaunt,
And to his home—the grave.
“A brave song! Ha ha ha!” By my faith a
brave song! Where didst pick it up, Old Screech-Owl,
eh?”
“Glow-worm is my name,” replied the other
demurely,—“Glow-worm—ah! but this is rich
earth! Look! what big, lusty, clumps. He, he,
he! How cold and pale he looks—he that I am
to hury—See!”
“He doth look cold and pale!” muttered Balvardo.
“Is the grave deep enough, Devil-darkness?
Let's house him i' th' earth without delay.”
“The grave scarce reaches to my middle—deeper
let us dig it, noble captain—deeper!”
“I tell thee, Devil-darkness, I cannot look upon
the cold and stony face of the dead! Deeper
thou mayst dig the grave—but the body must be
kidden from sight in the meanwhile. 'Slife—I left
my cloak in the vaults above, and I have no robe
to throw over the coffin!”
“He—he—he, thou'rt a brave man, yet poor
old Glow-worm knows more than thee! Look
around the cell, most noble captain, and tell me
what thou see'st?”
“I see the rough walls of stone, the roof of rock
the floor of clay. Not a whit more, by the
Fiend!”
“Look again—pass thine eyes along the wall
opposite yon oaken door. What seest thou now,
most noble captain?”
“I see a bolt of iron, rusted and time-eaten, projecting
from the wall—”
“Wouldst know how to open a passage into
the stone-room, next to this cell? Move the bolt
quickly to and fro, and yon massy stone will roll
back into the stone-room! Thou canst lay the
coffin within its walls, until the grave is deep
enow.”
“The bolt moves—ha! The stone, the massive
stone glides from the wall—another push at the
bolt! There—blood o' Mahound, I behold a dark
passage into this dismal room! 'Slife! there is
a current of air rushing from this open space—
what may it mean?”
“Dost wish to hide the corse? Eh—most noble
captain? Lay hold of t'other end o' th' coffin.
and I will raise this end. We'll bear it to the
stone-room!”
In a moment they raised the coffin, and bearing
it toward the open space, Balvardo retreated backwards,
through the passage, and in another instant
was lost to view, while the foot of the coffin
still projected into the dungeon-cell.
“Bear it through the passage, Glow-worm!”
cried Balvardo. “In a moment we will have it
laid along the floor of this dreary place!”
“It is heavy,” cried the old man; “my strength
fails me. Thou wilt have to bear the burden thyself,
most noble captain! Glow-worm lifts no
heavy burden!”
“Be it so,” growled Balvardo. “'Slife I like
not to be alone with the dead! Slowly, slowly, drag
the coffin along the floor of stone, there—it rests
against the wall! Now for the grave.”
“What dreary sound is that, thundering far
above? Oft have I heard it, yet ne'er could tell
what it might mean?”
“The Convent clock strikes—one!” muttered
Balvardo. “A few moments and my reward is
sure!”
“Beware the secret spring!” shrieked the old man,
as tho' his crazed mind had been fixed by some
sudden thought. “Beware the secret spring! It
sticks from the floor near the very wall, where
thou hast laid the coffin. An' thy foot presses
the spring the stone rolls back, and—he, he, he—
thou art buried alive!”
It was too late! Even as the old man spoke, Balvardo
stumbled along the floor of the stone-room
his foot pressed the point of iron projecting from
the floor, and the massive rock rolled back to its
place, in the masonry of the substantial wall.
“I fear, I fear,” murmured the old man gazing
around with an affrighted look; “I fear they,” pointing
above, “they will lash me for this! He, he,
he! I bade him beware of the spring within the
stone room, and he would not. I cannot turn
this bolt, the old man is not strong enough. Ha,
ha, here is a torch; Glow-worm has not had a torch
in his hand for years! Ho, ho, ho, the noble captain
came here to bury the dead, and, ho, ho, ho,
he is buried alive!”
| CHAPTER THE SEVENTH.
THE COFFIN AND THE CORSE. The Ladye Annabel, or, The doom of the poisoner | |