 | Dunluce Castle, A Poem |  |
IX.
Still on the bridge the Maiden stood;
Her white arm stain'd with Owen's blood;
And deep beneath the sea was splashing,
The rocks in bellowing fury lashing.
In stricter fold she round him twin'd;
He felt her o'er his bosom wind;
And rais'd his pallid faded face,
To thank her for that last embrace.
Together now their lips were muttering;
Their souls were there together fluttering;
And each on each beam'd forth the while
A languid and a mournful smile;
Of which no earthly tongue may tell
The tenderness ineffable:
Then, in the strength of her despair;
She with him plunges into air!
Adown the dreadful void they sink;
The whirling waves affrighted shrink
As they receive the double freight;
Down dashing loud its headlong weight.
Her white arm stain'd with Owen's blood;
And deep beneath the sea was splashing,
The rocks in bellowing fury lashing.
In stricter fold she round him twin'd;
He felt her o'er his bosom wind;
And rais'd his pallid faded face,
To thank her for that last embrace.
Together now their lips were muttering;
Their souls were there together fluttering;
And each on each beam'd forth the while
A languid and a mournful smile;
67
The tenderness ineffable:
Then, in the strength of her despair;
She with him plunges into air!
Adown the dreadful void they sink;
The whirling waves affrighted shrink
As they receive the double freight;
Down dashing loud its headlong weight.
“Save, save the daughter of your Chief!”
In the mad agony of grief
Accurst McDonnel cries;
“Save her!” a hundred mouths exclaim,
A hundred torches lend their flame
To watch the billows' rise.
'Tis vain; those torches only lend
Their light to guide them through the ocean,
As down their liquid path they wend,
In sobbing undulating motion:
And deep and deeper as they glided,
The tempest more and more subsided;
For even the Spirits of the Blast,
Who in the wreck of men rejoice;
Were soften'd as they by them past;
And hush'd their harsh and horrid voice!
In the mad agony of grief
Accurst McDonnel cries;
“Save her!” a hundred mouths exclaim,
A hundred torches lend their flame
To watch the billows' rise.
'Tis vain; those torches only lend
Their light to guide them through the ocean,
As down their liquid path they wend,
In sobbing undulating motion:
68
The tempest more and more subsided;
For even the Spirits of the Blast,
Who in the wreck of men rejoice;
Were soften'd as they by them past;
And hush'd their harsh and horrid voice!
The fact by which Dunluce Castle is here described to have been lost to the family of its original possessors is historical. The Writer has added what fictitious circumstances he thought proper.
FINIS.
| Dunluce Castle, A Poem | |