Full in the midst, his Cross of Red And trampled the Apostate's pride. 9. They sate them down on a marble stone Now, strange to my eyes thine arms appear, And their iron clang sounds strange to my ear. 10. In these far climes, it was my lot The bells would ring in Notre-Dame! The words that cleft Eildon Hills in three, And bridled the Tweed with a curb of stone: But to speak them were a deadly sin; And for having but thought them my heart within, 11. "When Michael lay on his dying bed, His conscience was awakened; He bethought him of his sinful deed, And he gave me a sign to come with speed: That he spoke to me, on death-bed laid; 12. 'I swore to bury his Mighty Book, That never mortal might therein look; And never to tell where it was hid, Save at his chief of Branksome's need; And when that need was past and o'er, I buried him on St Michael's night, When the bell tolled one, and the moon was bright; And I dug his chamber among the dead, When the floor of the chancel was stained red, 13. 'It was a night of woe and dread, When Michael in the tomb I laid; Pagan Strange sounds along the chancel passed, Still spoke the Monk, when the bell tolled one!— Than William of Deloraine, good at need, Yet somewhat was he chilled with dread, 14. 'Lo, Warrior! now, the Cross of Red To chase the spirits that love the night: Slow moved the Monk to the broad flagstone, He pointed to a secret nook; An iron bar the Warrior took; And the Monk made a sign with his withered hand, The grave's huge portal to expand. 15. With beating heart to the task he went: Till the toil-drops fell from his brows like rain. That he moved the massy stone at length. I would you had been there, to see Shewed the Monk's cowl, and visage pale, 16. Before their eyes the Wizard lay, Like a pilgrim from beyond the sea: The lamp was placed beside his knee: They trusted his soul had gotten grace. 17. Often had William of Deloraine He might not endure the sight to see, Of the man he had loved so brotherly. 18. And when the Priest his death-prayer had prayed, Thus unto Deloraine he said: 'Now speed thee what thou hast to do, Or, Warrior, we may dearly rue; For those thou mayest not look upon Are gathering fast round the yawning stone!' From the cold hand the Mighty Book, With iron clasped, and with iron bound: He thought, as he took it, the dead man frowned; But the glare of the sepulchral light, Perchance, had dazzled the Warrior's sight. 19. When the huge stone sunk o'er the tomb, The night returned in double gloom; For the moon had gone down, and the stars were few; And, as the Knight and Priest withdrew, With wavering steps and dizzy brain, They hardly might the postern gain. "Tis said, as through the aisles they passed, They heard strange noises on the blast; And through the cloister-galleries small, Which at mid-height thread the chancel wall, And voices unlike the voice of man; As if the fiends kept holiday, Because these spells were brought to day. I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 20. 'Now, hie thee hence,' the Father said; And many a prayer and penance sped: Before the cross was the body laid, Lord Byron: 1788-1824. Apostrophe to the Ocean.-From Childe Harold's Pilgrimage.' 1. Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue Ocean-roll! He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 2. His steps are not upon thy paths-thy fields And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send'st him, shivering in thy playful spray And dashest him again to earth :-there let him lay. 3. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, 4. Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee- 5. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving-boundless, endless, and sublime, Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime 6. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers-they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror-'twas a pleasing fear, For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here. To his Sister-From the Rhine. 1. The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, 2. And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, Walk smiling o'er this paradise; Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, And many a rock which steeply lowers, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; But one thing want these banks of Rhine- 3. I send the lilies given to me; Though long before thy hand they touch, 4. The river nobly foams and flows, |