Marmion . k were sent, As reached the upper air,The hearers blessed themselves, and said,The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoaned their torments there. XVIII. But though, in the monastic pile,Did of this penitential aisle Some vague tradition only, save the Abl)ot, knewWhere the place lay ; and still more fewWere those, who had from him the clew To that dread vault to and executionerWere blindfold when transported low dark rounds the arches hung,From the rude rock the side-walls sprung;The gravestones, rudely sculptured oer,Half sunk in earth, by time half Avore,Were a
Marmion . k were sent, As reached the upper air,The hearers blessed themselves, and said,The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoaned their torments there. XVIII. But though, in the monastic pile,Did of this penitential aisle Some vague tradition only, save the Abl)ot, knewWhere the place lay ; and still more fewWere those, who had from him the clew To that dread vault to and executionerWere blindfold when transported low dark rounds the arches hung,From the rude rock the side-walls sprung;The gravestones, rudely sculptured oer,Half sunk in earth, by time half Avore,Were all the pavement of the floor;The mildew-drops fell one by tinkling plash, upon the cresset, in an iron served to light this drear domain,With damp and darkness seemed to strive,As if it scarce might keep alive ;And yet it dimly served to showThe awful conclave met below. XIX. There, met to doom in secrecy. Were placed the heads of convents three: All servants of Saint Benedict,. CANTO II. THE CONVENT. 89 The statutes of whose order strict On iron table lay;In long black dress, on seats of stone,Behind were these three judges shown By the pale cressets Abbess of Saint Hildas, there,Sat for a space with visage , to hide her bosoms tear-drops that for pity fell. She closely drew her veil:Yon shrouded figure, as I her proud mien and flowing dress,Is Tynemouths haughty Prioress, And she with awe looks pale:And he, that Ancient Man, whose sightHas long been quenched by ages whose wrinkled brow alone,Nor ruth, nor mercys trace, is shown, Whose look is hard and stern, —Saint Cuthberts Abbot is his style;For sanctity called, through the isle, The Saint of Lindisfarne. Before them stood a guilty pair;But, though an equal fate they share,Yet one alone deserves our sex a pages dress belied;The cloak and doublet, loosely her charms, but could not cap down oer her face she drew; And
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookidmarmion00sco, bookyear1885
