The Legend of St. Loy With Other Poems. By John Abraham Heraud |
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The Legend of St. Loy | ||
XXII.
Ere mute the strain, O Almar, whyRecoil thy steps? why starts thine eye?
“Pause, Edwy! 'mid the snows, behold!
“Clasping his mother's bosom cold,
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“As still in mimic fury spread,
“A human form!—as, in his wrath,
“The stormy blast had crossed his path,
“And dashed him on the groaning ground,
“In the same posture as it found!—
“So from his hill the giant oak
“Is cleaved by the strong thunder-stroke;
“His honors spread the daunted plain,
“Stately his head of pride in vain;
“The Pilgrim pauses 'mid the vale,
“And moralizes on his fall—
“He lives!—he moves!—his ear has caught
“The sounds—they have aroused his thought!—
“Assist him—so—Oh, stranger! say,
“Why didst thou press thy kindred clay?
“Why dost thou glare so wildly sad,
“And fiercely wild, as Vengeance had
“Driven thee to madness,—brooding ire,
“In silence stern, with eyes of fire.—
“As thou some threatening statue wert
“Of pale Revenge, that seems to start,
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“Would rive the heart and brain to tell!”
The Legend of St. Loy | ||