Tales of Terror :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lady Alice reclined in her eglantine bower,
To the Virgin addressing her hymn;
When the wind 'gan to howl, and the welkin to lour,
And the moon, through the woodbine, shone dim.

Lady Alice look'd out, and her lattice below
Espied a long funeral train;
They blacken'd the night as they pass'd sad and slow,
Wending straight to St. Agatha's fane.

117

—“Oh! say on that litter what baron they bore,
“Whose path ye pursue through the gloom?”—
—“No baron, fair lady, a poor troubadour,
“And they bear his cold corse to the tomb!

“Young Arnold, the pride of our holiday throng,
“Led the dance, and directed the game;
“And we loved the dear youth, tho' we envied his song,
“For his friendship was sweeter than fame.

“His form it was perfect, his heart it was pure!
“But they could not a minstrel avail;
“And yet Beauty spread for young Arnold her lure,
“And Hope told a flattering tale.

“No longer the smile of the sweet village maid
“Could his eye, unimpassion'd, arrest;
“Nor his Theodore's pipe, while they sang 'neath the shade,
“Sound a note that enraptured his breast.

“But pensive and silent beside the dark stream
“That encircles this eglantine bower;
“When yon abbey was gilded with evening's last gleam,
“Oft he wander'd and wept the sad hour.

118

“Alas! silly swains, we unwittingly thought
“To the convent our minstrel was hied;
“Three nights at the grate for young Arnold we sought—
“While alone Arnold languish'd and died.

“And now in those cloisters, where erst with delight
“On his harp hung the listening fair,
“Each nun for her bard shall renew the sad rite,
“And repeat for his soul the fond prayer.

“O woe to the fair-one, whose barbarous scorn
“Nipt the blossom and hope of the vale!
“Her peace shall the plaint of Theresa forlorn,
“Ah! no longer a sister, assail.

“How changed is that cheek, how dejected that brow!
“How o'er-cast each ethereal smile;
“Hapless maid, in the cottage you caroll'd—but now
“Shall lament in the convent's lone aisle.

“Those rites, which to dust thy loved brother resign,
“Shall Theresa, yet living, entomb;
“While the shroud and the veil in sad union combine
“The surviving and dead in one doom.

119

“Yet thy brother, too constant, forgiveness bequeath'd,
“And with love seem'd unwilling to part;
“When he sigh'd his last sigh, and his last sorrow breathed,
“No resentment empoison'd his heart.

“—‘And should e'er,’ in faint accents, expiring he said,
“‘Yet relent the dear cause of my woe;
“‘Should her voice on the convent where Arnold is laid
“‘One expression of pity bestow;

“‘Should her eyes when she passes, if ever she pass,
“‘Where no stone shall distinguish my bier;
“‘Where waves the wild thistle, and bends the rank grass,
“‘Cloud their heavenly blue with a tear;

“‘O, tell her the picture her passion once gave,
“‘Too presumptuous Arnold restores;
“‘That no pang may imbitter, when rais'd from the grave,
“‘His re-union with her he adores.

“‘That on earth if again, like affection and truth
“‘Can the heart, he once occupied, move,
“‘It may hang round the neck of some happier youth,
“‘And recall Lady Alice's love!’”—

120

Slow proceeded the mourners—with wild frantic air
Lady Alice swift follow'd the bier;
—“O restore the false image, too fatally fair,
“And behold its original here!

“My cold bosom relents, and the voice of disdain
“Would each accent unfeeling recall;
“See from these faithless eyes, once insultingly vain,
“The big tear of sincerity fall!

“And couldst thou forgive me, sweet youth, on thy tomb,
“Should I one glance of pity bestow?
“O, for ever my sorrow shall sound through the gloom,
“And the torrent of bitterness flow!

“Each night, when religion and innocence sleep,
“When faint glimmers the pilgrim's pale lamp,
“O'er thy grave wretched Alice shall watch and shall weep
“In the sepulchre's death-breathing damp.

“Farewel, life's allurements, though transient yet bright!
“Unregretted by sorrow and me!
“The world fades deceitful, on vanity's sight,
“And I pant from its chains to be free.

121

“With thee, sweet Theresa, with thee, if thine eyes
“Can the murd'ress of Arnold behold,
“I'll resign all but grief, and re-echo thy sighs,
“And in thee thy lost brother enfold.

“Oh! give me that heart, that affection he gave!
“You shall Arnold to Alice restore;
“And no pang shall imbitter, when rais'd from the grave,
“My re-union with him I adore.”—

O, why should yon cloisters, at solemn midnight,
Those pale pensive wanderers haunt?
Round the newly-dug grave why returns the lamp's light,
And still echoes the funeral chaunt?

Sympathetic in friendship and woe, the fond pair
Pleasure's scenes unreluctantly spurn;
Their one sad enjoyment, their one sweetest care,
To bedeck with fresh flowers Arnold's urn.

And now, when religion and time's lenient balm
The wound, though unheal'd, gently close;
When subsides frantic grief in a soul-soothing calm,
Say, must conscience still fly from repose?

122

Oh! why in the requiem breathes a wild lay,
Undeserved by an alien's corse?
Those sighs, recollection still poignant betray,
That agony—sleepless remorse.