Page:Prose works, from the original editions (Volume 1).djvu/150

III.

  But that hour is past;
  And that hour was the last
Of peace to the dark monk's brain.
  Bitter tears, from his eyes, gush'd silent and fast:
And he strove to suppress them in vain.

IV.

  Then his fair cross of gold he dash'd on the floor,
When the death-knell struck on his ear.
  Delight is in store
  For her evermore;
But for me is fate, horror, and fear.

V.

  Then his eyes wildly roll'd,
  When the death-bell toll'd,
And he raged in terrific woe.
  And he stamp'd on the ground,
  But when ceased the sound
Tears again began to flow.

VI.

  And the ice of despair
  Chill'd the wide throb of care,
And he sat in mute agony still;
  Till the night-stars shone through the cloudless air.
And the pale moonbeam slept on the hill.

VII.

  Then he knelt in his cell:—
  And the horrors of hell
Were delights to his agonized pain.
  And he pray'd to God to dissolve the spell,
Which else must for ever remain.

VIII.

And in fervent prayer he knelt on the ground,
  Till the abbey bell struck One:
His feverish blood ran chill at the sound:
A voice hollow and horrible murmur'd around,
  "The term of thy penance is done!"