The Isle of Devils A Historical Tale, Funnded on an Anecdote in the Annals of Portugal. (From an unpublished Manuscript.) By M. G. Lewis |
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 | The Isle of Devils |  |
VI.
Long in this death-like swoon she lay; at length,Recruited nature showed forth all its strength,
And called her back to life; her op'ning eyes
Beheld a Grotto vast in depth and size;
Whose high straight walls forbade all hopes of flight,
The fractured roof gave ample space for light;
Thro' which in gorgeous guise the day star shone,
On many a lucid shell and brilliant stone;
Thro' pendent spars and chrystals as it falls,
Each beam with Iris hues adorns the walls,
Gilds all the roof; emblazes all the ground,
And scatters light, and warmth and splendour round.
Softly on pillowy furs reposed her head,
With many a verdent rush her couch was spread.
A Gourd with blushing fruits was near her placed,
Whose scent and colour woo'd alike her taste;
And round her strewn, there bloom'd unnumbered flowers,
Charming her sense with aromatic powers.
One only object chilled her heart with fear,
Far off removed (but still alas too near).
Scarce breathing lest a breath her sleep might break,
There stood the Fiend and watched to see her wake;
In sooth, if credit outward show might crave,
Than Irza ne'er had nymph an humbler slave.
He watched her every glance; her frown he fear'd,
And if his pains to meet her wish appeared;
Those pains seemed all o'er paid, all cares appeas'd,
And so she found but pleasure, he was pleas'd;
One power he claimed, but claimed that one alone.
Still when he left her side, a mass of stone
Barr'd up the Grotto; nor allowed her feet,
To pass the limits of her bright retreat.
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In Irza's sight he passed the live long day;
And showed her living springs, and noon tide shades,
Spice breathing groves, and flower enamell'd glades.
For her, he still selects the sweetest roots,
The coolest waters, and the loveliest fruits:
To deck her charms the softest furs he brings,
And plucks the plumage from Flamingo's wings.
Bids blooming shrubs to shade her, bend in bowers,
And strews her couch with fragrant herbs and flowers;
While many an Ivy twisted grate restrains,
The splendid Tenants of the Etherial plains.
And when she sought her lonely Grot at eve,
And waved her hand and warned him take his leave;
Her will was his—he breath'd his plaintive moan,
Gaz'd one last look, then gently rolled the stone.
| The Isle of Devils | |