GOLFRE,PART THIRD.
Three times the orient ray was seenAbove the East cliff mounting,WhenGolfresought the Cottage GraceTo share the honours of his race,With treasures, beyond counting!The Ev’ning Sun was burning redThe Twilight veil spread slowly;WhileZorietto, near the woodWhere long a little cross had stood,Was singing Vespers holy.And now she kiss’d her Holly-beads,And now she cross’d her breast;The night-dew fell from ev’ry tree—It fell upon her rosary,Like tears of Heav’n twice bless’d!She knelt upon the brown moss, cold,She knelt, with eyes, mild beaming!The day had clos’d, she heard a sigh!She mark’d the clear and frosty skyWith starry lustre gleaming.She rose; she heard the drawbridge chainsLoud clanking down the valley;She mark’d the yellow torches shineBetween the antique groves of Pine—Bright’ning each gloomy alley.And now the breeze began to blow,Soft-stealing up the mountain;It seem’d at first a dulcet sound—Like mingled waters, wand’ring roundSlow falling from a fountain.And now, in wilder tone it rose,The white peaks sweeping, shrilly:It play’d amidst her golden hairIt kiss’d her bosom cold and fair—And sweet, as vale-born Lily!She heard the hollow tread of feetThridding the piny cluster;The torches flam’d before the wind—And many a spark was left behind,To mock the glow-worm’s lustre.She saw them guard the Cottage door,Her heart beat high with wonder!She heard the fierce and Northern blastAs o’er the topmost point it pastLike peals of bursting thunder!And now she hied her swift alongAnd reach’d the guarded wicket;But O! what terror fill’d her soul,When thrice she heard the deep bell toll—Above the gloomy thicket.Now fierce, theBarondarted forth,His trembling victim seizing;She felt her blood, in ev’ry veinMove, with a sense of dead’ning pain,As though her heart were freezing.“This night,” said he, “Yon castle tow’rs“Shall echo to their centre!“For, by theHoly Cross, I swear,”—And straight a cross of ruby glareDid through the wicket enter!And now a snowy hand was seenSlow moving, round the chamber!A clasp of pearl, it seem’d to bear—A clasp of pearl, most rich and rare!Fix’d to a zone of amber.And now the lowly Hovel shook,The wicket open flying,And by, the croakingRavenflewAnd, whistling shrill, the night-blast blewLike shrieks, that mark the dying!But suddenly the tumult ceas’d—And silence, still more fearful,Around the little chamber spreadSuch horrors as attend the dead,Where no Sun glitters chearful!“NowJesu hear me!”Golfrecried,“Hear me,” a faint voice mutter’d!TheBarondrew his poniard forth—The Maiden sunk upon the earth,And—“Save me Heav’n!” she utter’d.“Yes, Heav’n will save thee,”Golfresaid,“Save thee, to beMYbride!”But while he spoke a beam of lightShone on her bosom, deathly white,Then onward seem’d to glide.And now the Goatherd, on his knees,With frantic accent cried,“O! God forbid! thatIshould see“The beauteousZorietto, be“TheBaron Golfre’s bride!“Poor Lady! she did shrink and fall,“As leaves fall in September!“Then be notBaron Golfre’s bride—“Alack! in yon black tow’rShedied—“Full well, I do remember!”“Oft, to the lattice grate I stole“To hear her, sweetly singing;“And oft, whole nights, beside the moat,“I listen’d to the dying note—“’Till matin’s bell was ringing.“And when she died! Poor Lady dear!“A sack of gold, she gave,“That masses every Christmas day“Twelve bare-foot Monks should sing, or say,“Slow moving round her Grave.“That, at the Holy Virgin’s shrine“Three Lamps should burn for ever—“That, ev’ry month, the bell should toll,“For pray’rs to save her Husband’s soul—“I shall forget it, never!”While thus he spoke, theBaron’s eyeLook’d inward on his soul:For He the massesne’erhad said—Nolamps, their quiv’ring light had shed,Nobell, been taught to toll!And yet, the belldidtoll, self-mov’d;And sickly lamps were gleaming;And oft, their faintly wand’ring lightIllum’d the Chapel aisles at night,’TillMorn’s broad eye, was beaming.
Three times the orient ray was seenAbove the East cliff mounting,WhenGolfresought the Cottage GraceTo share the honours of his race,With treasures, beyond counting!The Ev’ning Sun was burning redThe Twilight veil spread slowly;WhileZorietto, near the woodWhere long a little cross had stood,Was singing Vespers holy.And now she kiss’d her Holly-beads,And now she cross’d her breast;The night-dew fell from ev’ry tree—It fell upon her rosary,Like tears of Heav’n twice bless’d!She knelt upon the brown moss, cold,She knelt, with eyes, mild beaming!The day had clos’d, she heard a sigh!She mark’d the clear and frosty skyWith starry lustre gleaming.She rose; she heard the drawbridge chainsLoud clanking down the valley;She mark’d the yellow torches shineBetween the antique groves of Pine—Bright’ning each gloomy alley.And now the breeze began to blow,Soft-stealing up the mountain;It seem’d at first a dulcet sound—Like mingled waters, wand’ring roundSlow falling from a fountain.And now, in wilder tone it rose,The white peaks sweeping, shrilly:It play’d amidst her golden hairIt kiss’d her bosom cold and fair—And sweet, as vale-born Lily!She heard the hollow tread of feetThridding the piny cluster;The torches flam’d before the wind—And many a spark was left behind,To mock the glow-worm’s lustre.She saw them guard the Cottage door,Her heart beat high with wonder!She heard the fierce and Northern blastAs o’er the topmost point it pastLike peals of bursting thunder!And now she hied her swift alongAnd reach’d the guarded wicket;But O! what terror fill’d her soul,When thrice she heard the deep bell toll—Above the gloomy thicket.Now fierce, theBarondarted forth,His trembling victim seizing;She felt her blood, in ev’ry veinMove, with a sense of dead’ning pain,As though her heart were freezing.“This night,” said he, “Yon castle tow’rs“Shall echo to their centre!“For, by theHoly Cross, I swear,”—And straight a cross of ruby glareDid through the wicket enter!And now a snowy hand was seenSlow moving, round the chamber!A clasp of pearl, it seem’d to bear—A clasp of pearl, most rich and rare!Fix’d to a zone of amber.And now the lowly Hovel shook,The wicket open flying,And by, the croakingRavenflewAnd, whistling shrill, the night-blast blewLike shrieks, that mark the dying!But suddenly the tumult ceas’d—And silence, still more fearful,Around the little chamber spreadSuch horrors as attend the dead,Where no Sun glitters chearful!“NowJesu hear me!”Golfrecried,“Hear me,” a faint voice mutter’d!TheBarondrew his poniard forth—The Maiden sunk upon the earth,And—“Save me Heav’n!” she utter’d.“Yes, Heav’n will save thee,”Golfresaid,“Save thee, to beMYbride!”But while he spoke a beam of lightShone on her bosom, deathly white,Then onward seem’d to glide.And now the Goatherd, on his knees,With frantic accent cried,“O! God forbid! thatIshould see“The beauteousZorietto, be“TheBaron Golfre’s bride!“Poor Lady! she did shrink and fall,“As leaves fall in September!“Then be notBaron Golfre’s bride—“Alack! in yon black tow’rShedied—“Full well, I do remember!”“Oft, to the lattice grate I stole“To hear her, sweetly singing;“And oft, whole nights, beside the moat,“I listen’d to the dying note—“’Till matin’s bell was ringing.“And when she died! Poor Lady dear!“A sack of gold, she gave,“That masses every Christmas day“Twelve bare-foot Monks should sing, or say,“Slow moving round her Grave.“That, at the Holy Virgin’s shrine“Three Lamps should burn for ever—“That, ev’ry month, the bell should toll,“For pray’rs to save her Husband’s soul—“I shall forget it, never!”While thus he spoke, theBaron’s eyeLook’d inward on his soul:For He the massesne’erhad said—Nolamps, their quiv’ring light had shed,Nobell, been taught to toll!And yet, the belldidtoll, self-mov’d;And sickly lamps were gleaming;And oft, their faintly wand’ring lightIllum’d the Chapel aisles at night,’TillMorn’s broad eye, was beaming.
Three times the orient ray was seenAbove the East cliff mounting,WhenGolfresought the Cottage GraceTo share the honours of his race,With treasures, beyond counting!
Three times the orient ray was seen
Above the East cliff mounting,
WhenGolfresought the Cottage Grace
To share the honours of his race,
With treasures, beyond counting!
The Ev’ning Sun was burning redThe Twilight veil spread slowly;WhileZorietto, near the woodWhere long a little cross had stood,Was singing Vespers holy.
The Ev’ning Sun was burning red
The Twilight veil spread slowly;
WhileZorietto, near the wood
Where long a little cross had stood,
Was singing Vespers holy.
And now she kiss’d her Holly-beads,And now she cross’d her breast;The night-dew fell from ev’ry tree—It fell upon her rosary,Like tears of Heav’n twice bless’d!
And now she kiss’d her Holly-beads,
And now she cross’d her breast;
The night-dew fell from ev’ry tree—
It fell upon her rosary,
Like tears of Heav’n twice bless’d!
She knelt upon the brown moss, cold,She knelt, with eyes, mild beaming!The day had clos’d, she heard a sigh!She mark’d the clear and frosty skyWith starry lustre gleaming.
She knelt upon the brown moss, cold,
She knelt, with eyes, mild beaming!
The day had clos’d, she heard a sigh!
She mark’d the clear and frosty sky
With starry lustre gleaming.
She rose; she heard the drawbridge chainsLoud clanking down the valley;She mark’d the yellow torches shineBetween the antique groves of Pine—Bright’ning each gloomy alley.
She rose; she heard the drawbridge chains
Loud clanking down the valley;
She mark’d the yellow torches shine
Between the antique groves of Pine—
Bright’ning each gloomy alley.
And now the breeze began to blow,Soft-stealing up the mountain;It seem’d at first a dulcet sound—Like mingled waters, wand’ring roundSlow falling from a fountain.
And now the breeze began to blow,
Soft-stealing up the mountain;
It seem’d at first a dulcet sound—
Like mingled waters, wand’ring round
Slow falling from a fountain.
And now, in wilder tone it rose,The white peaks sweeping, shrilly:It play’d amidst her golden hairIt kiss’d her bosom cold and fair—And sweet, as vale-born Lily!
And now, in wilder tone it rose,
The white peaks sweeping, shrilly:
It play’d amidst her golden hair
It kiss’d her bosom cold and fair—
And sweet, as vale-born Lily!
She heard the hollow tread of feetThridding the piny cluster;The torches flam’d before the wind—And many a spark was left behind,To mock the glow-worm’s lustre.
She heard the hollow tread of feet
Thridding the piny cluster;
The torches flam’d before the wind—
And many a spark was left behind,
To mock the glow-worm’s lustre.
She saw them guard the Cottage door,Her heart beat high with wonder!She heard the fierce and Northern blastAs o’er the topmost point it pastLike peals of bursting thunder!
She saw them guard the Cottage door,
Her heart beat high with wonder!
She heard the fierce and Northern blast
As o’er the topmost point it past
Like peals of bursting thunder!
And now she hied her swift alongAnd reach’d the guarded wicket;But O! what terror fill’d her soul,When thrice she heard the deep bell toll—Above the gloomy thicket.
And now she hied her swift along
And reach’d the guarded wicket;
But O! what terror fill’d her soul,
When thrice she heard the deep bell toll—
Above the gloomy thicket.
Now fierce, theBarondarted forth,His trembling victim seizing;She felt her blood, in ev’ry veinMove, with a sense of dead’ning pain,As though her heart were freezing.
Now fierce, theBarondarted forth,
His trembling victim seizing;
She felt her blood, in ev’ry vein
Move, with a sense of dead’ning pain,
As though her heart were freezing.
“This night,” said he, “Yon castle tow’rs“Shall echo to their centre!“For, by theHoly Cross, I swear,”—And straight a cross of ruby glareDid through the wicket enter!
“This night,” said he, “Yon castle tow’rs
“Shall echo to their centre!
“For, by theHoly Cross, I swear,”—
And straight a cross of ruby glare
Did through the wicket enter!
And now a snowy hand was seenSlow moving, round the chamber!A clasp of pearl, it seem’d to bear—A clasp of pearl, most rich and rare!Fix’d to a zone of amber.
And now a snowy hand was seen
Slow moving, round the chamber!
A clasp of pearl, it seem’d to bear—
A clasp of pearl, most rich and rare!
Fix’d to a zone of amber.
And now the lowly Hovel shook,The wicket open flying,And by, the croakingRavenflewAnd, whistling shrill, the night-blast blewLike shrieks, that mark the dying!
And now the lowly Hovel shook,
The wicket open flying,
And by, the croakingRavenflew
And, whistling shrill, the night-blast blew
Like shrieks, that mark the dying!
But suddenly the tumult ceas’d—And silence, still more fearful,Around the little chamber spreadSuch horrors as attend the dead,Where no Sun glitters chearful!
But suddenly the tumult ceas’d—
And silence, still more fearful,
Around the little chamber spread
Such horrors as attend the dead,
Where no Sun glitters chearful!
“NowJesu hear me!”Golfrecried,“Hear me,” a faint voice mutter’d!TheBarondrew his poniard forth—The Maiden sunk upon the earth,And—“Save me Heav’n!” she utter’d.
“NowJesu hear me!”Golfrecried,
“Hear me,” a faint voice mutter’d!
TheBarondrew his poniard forth—
The Maiden sunk upon the earth,
And—“Save me Heav’n!” she utter’d.
“Yes, Heav’n will save thee,”Golfresaid,“Save thee, to beMYbride!”But while he spoke a beam of lightShone on her bosom, deathly white,Then onward seem’d to glide.
“Yes, Heav’n will save thee,”Golfresaid,
“Save thee, to beMYbride!”
But while he spoke a beam of light
Shone on her bosom, deathly white,
Then onward seem’d to glide.
And now the Goatherd, on his knees,With frantic accent cried,“O! God forbid! thatIshould see“The beauteousZorietto, be“TheBaron Golfre’s bride!
And now the Goatherd, on his knees,
With frantic accent cried,
“O! God forbid! thatIshould see
“The beauteousZorietto, be
“TheBaron Golfre’s bride!
“Poor Lady! she did shrink and fall,“As leaves fall in September!“Then be notBaron Golfre’s bride—“Alack! in yon black tow’rShedied—“Full well, I do remember!”
“Poor Lady! she did shrink and fall,
“As leaves fall in September!
“Then be notBaron Golfre’s bride—
“Alack! in yon black tow’rShedied—
“Full well, I do remember!”
“Oft, to the lattice grate I stole“To hear her, sweetly singing;“And oft, whole nights, beside the moat,“I listen’d to the dying note—“’Till matin’s bell was ringing.
“Oft, to the lattice grate I stole
“To hear her, sweetly singing;
“And oft, whole nights, beside the moat,
“I listen’d to the dying note—
“’Till matin’s bell was ringing.
“And when she died! Poor Lady dear!“A sack of gold, she gave,“That masses every Christmas day“Twelve bare-foot Monks should sing, or say,“Slow moving round her Grave.
“And when she died! Poor Lady dear!
“A sack of gold, she gave,
“That masses every Christmas day
“Twelve bare-foot Monks should sing, or say,
“Slow moving round her Grave.
“That, at the Holy Virgin’s shrine“Three Lamps should burn for ever—“That, ev’ry month, the bell should toll,“For pray’rs to save her Husband’s soul—“I shall forget it, never!”
“That, at the Holy Virgin’s shrine
“Three Lamps should burn for ever—
“That, ev’ry month, the bell should toll,
“For pray’rs to save her Husband’s soul—
“I shall forget it, never!”
While thus he spoke, theBaron’s eyeLook’d inward on his soul:For He the massesne’erhad said—Nolamps, their quiv’ring light had shed,Nobell, been taught to toll!
While thus he spoke, theBaron’s eye
Look’d inward on his soul:
For He the massesne’erhad said—
Nolamps, their quiv’ring light had shed,
Nobell, been taught to toll!
And yet, the belldidtoll, self-mov’d;And sickly lamps were gleaming;And oft, their faintly wand’ring lightIllum’d the Chapel aisles at night,’TillMorn’s broad eye, was beaming.
And yet, the belldidtoll, self-mov’d;
And sickly lamps were gleaming;
And oft, their faintly wand’ring light
Illum’d the Chapel aisles at night,
’TillMorn’s broad eye, was beaming.