Classic Poem

7

Then came o'er Adwick's frenzied min
A change, like coulour to the blind. Oh, deem not him a cruel man,
That victim of a ruthless ban,
And of compassionate sympathy,
Which suffers in his destiny,
And darkly, dreadly shares the fate
That made him desolate!
If thou would'st see the gentle sky
Its tortur'd waves forsake;
Then shall the banks, the whispering trees
The cloud, the herd, the rock, the hill
The foxglove, ay, the birds and bees,
Live in that mirror bright and still.
So when warm tears gush'd from his brain,
and coll'd its burning hell of pain,
(Frenzy subsiding into sadness,
And saddest pity conqu'ring madness,)
He was himself again:
Like one who wakes from dreams of woe,
When blackest night is past — and, lo,
Morn glitters on a world of snow!
He saw his victim's mute despair!
To see her die he could not bear.
Himself he hated for the deed
That laid her, like a withering weed,
Before him — dying, helpless, pale;
And if man's courage can avail,
Oh, yet will he save Etheline!
He will bring back her Telmarine.
Yea, he hath sought the dread retreat,
Where none may tread with unbless'd feet.
Hark! Voices? Shouts? A fearful cry
Wakes the green night of Mystery:
" Oh, Sacrilege! a man defil'd
Hath from the hallow'd chamber borne
The consecrated child! "
And she, the Nun of Snow, hath sworn
That he, the thief, whoe'er he be, Shall for his crime with life atone, andsuffer on the slaughter-stone
Pain's worst extremity.