University of Virginia Library

SCENE VIII.
THE DUNGEON.

I.

Home from the banquet, on the night
He dar'd the Baron to the fight,
His troubled way bent Lodowice—
While madd'ning thoughts in tumult quick,
Like ocean's wild succeeding waves,
Each in its wild ascension raves,
Then, whelm'd for ever, sinks to rest,
Scatter'd on his tumultuous breast.

II.

'Twas the dead of night—from his couch he rose,
Sworn foe to sorrow's woo'd repose;—
Slumber'd his menials still and deep,
Upon their eyes sat deathlike sleep.
Many a black and gloomy cloud
Hung upon night's sable shroud;
On the chilly air came not a sound,
Fell not a leaf the castle round;
The measur'd pace of the knight alone
Sent back upon his ear its tone,
His dog, whose eyes in slumber watch,
Whose ears in sleep each foot-fall catch,
Stirs not, his master's feet to lick,
All slept—wak'd none but Lodowick.

III.

A grasp as of iron caught him behind—
He turn'd—and he was seiz'd again;
His powerless arms they grasp and bind,
He called for aid—he called in vain.
Strong was the knight, unwont to yield,
Approv'd in many a battle field,
But in that clasp so swift and stern,
He might not struggle, he might not turn—
A new-born infant's sinews might
Cope with a giant's limbs in fight
As well, as hopefully—
He calls, the watch-dog sleeps unrous'd,
Nor heed the slumbering menials hous'd
Their master's jeopardy.

IV.

They drew a covering o'er his head,
And from the castle's portals sped:—
The gate on its massy hinges leaps,
And yet while the trusty porter sleeps,
The keys beneath his pillow he keeps.

V.

Onward, onward, swift as light!
Now they rais'd the captive knight;
Now the jolt of a car he feels,
He caught the rumbling of its wheels,
The tramp of steeds, and he could hear
A murmuring sound as of water near.
For hours they rode; upon his ear
There came no other sound.
But paus'd they now; no word they spoke,
As they in mysterious silence took
From his seat their captive bound.

VI.

A rough descent, where oft the feet
From rubbish rude resistance meet,
Proclaim'd that now their progress lay
Adown some lone and secret way,—
Where oft abrupt and sudden shock
Would the very soul of caution mock—
Some dark retreat—where things are done
That may not meet the living sun.

VII.

A stifled hum of voices rose
As massy doors unbarr'd, unclose.
And now his arms are freed—his eyes
From their black shroud of darkness rise—
A narrow vault of rugged stone
In rude disorder round him thrown,
Let by a taper's dubious beam
That show'd like melancholy gleam,
The last pale ray of ebbing hope,
Confin'd th' unfetter'd vision's scope.

VIII.

And near him a dark figure stood
Proclaim'd at once of robber brood;
His form was girt in sable cloak,
Save where a dagger's handle broke
Its folds:—upon his front, above
The darkly shadow'd brow,
Where the pale taper's gleamings move
So fitful, wildly now,
Nature and fate conspired to write
‘Murder’ in characters of night.
Th' inthrall'd had spoke—the robber's hand
In sternly confident command
Now pointed to his lip,—then prest
The poniard's hilt beneath his vest;
Then show'd a rude and scanty store
Of captive's fare upon the floor;
And springing through a narrow door,
It clos'd the ruffians, step behind;
Bolts, locks, nor bars its fast'nings bind,—
A spring without alone may ope
The path to freedom, light, and hope!

IX.

X.

Some fierce convulsion of our earth
Gave that dark, broken prison birth,—
The sever'd rocks by man unwrought
Show'd on its walls their sides distraught:
Such shock alone as tore them in twain
Shall burst that prison's walls again!
The frequent crevice but derides
The hope to freedom fair that guides;
Impervious gloom, and rock and rock
Beyond, the anxious vision mock,
All vain were mortal man's essay
To pluck one bedded mass away.

XI.

But through one deep and narrow hole
A beam through shadowy windings stole;—
Here strain'd the knight his anxious ken
To search that wild, mysterious den.
A vault, whose bounds he could not scan
Deep, dim, and far beneath him ran;
A dusky light that o'er it gleam'd
From bickering blaze at distance seem'd;—
Frequent it rested to betray
Where scatter'd armour gleaming lay,
And darkling shadows pass'd along
A rugged, tall, and well-arm'd throng;
Low mutter'd sounds beneath him roll'd,
But undistinct—no tale they told.
When loud and quick a shrill tone rang,
And came upon his ear a clang;—
Seem'd brazen portals to expand—
Started at once the robber band—
Dread they some fell, unlook'd assault?
A pealing shout ascends the vault.—
Each distant crag the echoes brought
Where the breathless knight the accents caught.—
“Vaumond!”—It shook that dismal den
Till all was still and dull agen.
Vanish'd each form below that past,
Upon that sound they flitted fast;—
And now afar he heard alone
A varying, low, and fitful tone;
A distant tread of heavy steps
Along that endless dungeon creeps;
Silence succeeds—the light went out—
All now is mystery, night, and doubt.

XII.

My idly measur'd prose must hie
Right onward in my tale—
And on the chief's uncertainty,
Tumultuous, may not dwell.
Suffice it, he no more might mark
One glimmering, through that cavern dark;
His narrow prison-house, the care
That bore him from his castle there
Had stor'd with oil, within his view,
His waning taper to renew.
And ever at the midnight tide
His food a hand unseen supplied;
From the central rock above a chain
Let down his daily store,
But voice or tread of man again
Heard Lodowick no more.

XIII.

Full well was plann'd thy gaoler's scheme!
Light, food, and each unfetter'd limb,
Lone on the reeking rack each hour
The hope they fann'd to life;—
Thy impotence but mock'd their power,
And deadly was the strife.
Oh, mad'ning was thy lengthen'd spell,
And memory lit her torch in hell!
No spirit o'er thy chaos hover'd,
No light thy solitude discover'd!

XIV.

My onward tale may not give place
To dwell on that fell thrall,—
In soothless, utter loneliness
The heart's blood curdling into gall,—
The fever'd, madden'd, raving, longing,
Driv'n back upon the soul—
Where black recording fiends are thronging,
And fire to break the adamantine goal;—
Cracks not the heart?—bursts not the head?—
Or hath the monarch reason fled?
Or sleeps she on her noontide throne?
Oh! that such opiate were his own!

XV.

The wretch on ocean's central waste
Whom fate in one lone park hath cast,—
That bark all strain'd, and steerless riding
While billows chafe and heaven is chiding,—
He in his struggle wild hath still
Hope fiercer from each gathering ill;
The mountain wave o'ercome towers high
His pyramid of victory;—
The agony of hope and fear
To rapture's fiery bound is near;
The drop that o'erwrought energy
Wrung from the brow with pangs severe,
Bears high and close affinity
With rapture's burning tear!

XVI.