The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill With biography, illustrations, and music |
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THE PORTRAIT OF GUILT:
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 | The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill |  |
180
THE PORTRAIT OF GUILT:
IN IMITATION OF M. G. LEWIS.
'Twas night, and the winds through the dark forest roar'd,
From Heaven's wide cat'racts the torrents down pour'd,
And blue lightnings flash'd on the eye;
Demoniac howlings were heard in the air,
With groans of deep anguish, and shrieks of despair,
And hoarse thunders growl'd through the sky.
From Heaven's wide cat'racts the torrents down pour'd,
And blue lightnings flash'd on the eye;
Demoniac howlings were heard in the air,
With groans of deep anguish, and shrieks of despair,
And hoarse thunders growl'd through the sky.
Pale, breathless, and trembling, the dark villain stood,
His hands and his clothes all bespotted with blood,
His eyes wild with terror did stare;
The earth yawned around him, and sulphurous blue,
From the flame-boiling gaps, did expose to his view
A gibbet and skeleton bare.
His hands and his clothes all bespotted with blood,
His eyes wild with terror did stare;
The earth yawned around him, and sulphurous blue,
From the flame-boiling gaps, did expose to his view
A gibbet and skeleton bare.
With horror he shrunk from a prospect so dread,
The blast swung the clanking chains over his head,
The rattling bones sung in the wind;
The lone bird of night from the abbey did cry,
He look'd o'er his shoulder intending to fly,
But a spectre stood ghastly behind.
The blast swung the clanking chains over his head,
The rattling bones sung in the wind;
The lone bird of night from the abbey did cry,
He look'd o'er his shoulder intending to fly,
But a spectre stood ghastly behind.
“Stop, deep hell-taught villain!” the ghost did exclaim,
“With thy brother of guilt here to expiate thy crime,
And atone for thy treacherous vow:
'Tis here thou shalt hang, to the vultures a prey,
Till piece-meal they tear thee and bear thee away,
And thy bones rot unburied below.”
“With thy brother of guilt here to expiate thy crime,
And atone for thy treacherous vow:
'Tis here thou shalt hang, to the vultures a prey,
Till piece-meal they tear thee and bear thee away,
And thy bones rot unburied below.”
181
Now, closing all round him, fierce demons did throng,
In sounds all unholy they howled their death-song,
And the vultures around them did scream;
Now clenching their claws in his fear-bristled hair,
Loud yelling they bore him aloft in the air,
And the murd'rer awoke—'twas a dream!
In sounds all unholy they howled their death-song,
And the vultures around them did scream;
Now clenching their claws in his fear-bristled hair,
Loud yelling they bore him aloft in the air,
And the murd'rer awoke—'twas a dream!
| The songs and poems of Robert Tannahill | |