Threat’ning shadows seemed to gather In the twilight of the room, And the thoughts, vibrating changeful Through her spirit, grew revengeful With their whisperings of doom: Starting suddenly, she vanished far amid the deep’ning gloom. In the stillness of the forest Falls a timid, trembling gleam, With a ruby radiance sparkling On the rill that ripples darkling Through the thicket, like a dream: ’Tis from out the secret chamber, where are met the Holy Vehm![3] Wizard rocks around the entrance Dark and grim, like sentries, stand; And within the ghostly grotto Sits the gloomy Baron Otto, Chieftain of the dreaded band, Who in darkness and in secret ruled Sicilia’s Sunny land. As in sable vestments shrouded Sat the ministers of doom, Came a step by terror fleetened, And the dank, foul air was sweetened With the orange-buds’ perfume, And the starry eyes of jewels shone amid the sullen gloom! Then uprose the gloomy Otto— Sternly wrinkled was his brow; “Why this sudden, strange intrusion On the Holy Vehm’s seclusion? Why thus wildly comest thou, Noble lady, claiming vengeance from the Brothers of the Vow?” “There is one among your order Whom I dare to sue for aid: Will a brother’s dagger falter, When the bridegroom from the altar Hath his bosom’s vow betrayed, And the princely bride is slighted for a low-born peasant maid?” Straight the summoned one departed Out into the starry air; Cold the silence seemed, and dreary, And the moments grew more weary, While the lady waited there With a deep, uncertain anguish, which her spirit scarce could bear. Mingled thoughts of love and vengeance Madly battled in her brain; All her bosom’s passionate feeling Struggled with the dread revealing, Till her eyes o’ergushed in rain— Then anon they flashed and kindled, and her soul grew stern again! Once a sweet and happy vision Nigh her fiery will had won— When the silver lamp of Hesper Twinkled through the silent vesper, And their bosoms beat as one, Thrilling o’er with too much fervor, like a blossom in the sun. Olden words in music echoed Through her heart’s forsaken bowers; But its buds of love were rifled, And the spirit voice was stifled, Which would tell of tender hours; Nevermore may second sunshine bid re-bloom its perished flowers!