Like the pale Image of Despair he sat, The cold drops pacing down his hollow cheek, When a deep groan assail’d his startled ear, And rous’d him into action. To the sill Of his low hovel he rush’d forth, (for fear Will sometimes take the shape of fortitude, And force men into bravery) and soon The wicker bolt unfasten’d. The swift blast, Now unrestrain’d, flew by; and in its course The quiv’ring lamp extinguish’d, and again His soul was thrill’d with terror. On he went, E’en to the snow-fring’d margin of the cragg, Which to his citadel a platform made Slipp’ry and perilous! ’Twas darkness, all! All, solitary gloom!—The concave vast Of Heav’n frown’d chaos; for all varied things Of air, and earth, and waters, blended, lost Their forms, in blank oblivion! Yet not long Did Nature wear her sable panoply, For, while the HERMIT listen’d, from below A stream of light ascended, spreading round A partial view of trackless solitudes; And mingling voices seem’d, with busy hum, To break the spell of horrors. Down the steep The HERMIT hasten’d, when a shriek of death Re-echoed to the valley. As he flew, (The treach’rous pathway yielding to his speed,) Half hoping, half despairing, to the scene Of wonder-waking anguish, suddenly The torches were extinct; and second night Came doubly hideous, while the hollow tongues Of cavern’d winds, with melancholy sound Increas’d the HERMIT’s fears. Four freezing hours He watch’d and pray’d: and now the glimm’ring dawn Peer’d on the Eastern Summits; (the blue light Shedding cold lustre on the colder brows Of Alpine desarts;) while the filmy wing Of weeping Twilight, swept the naked plains Of the Lombardian landscape. On his knees The ANCHORET blest Heav’n, that he had ’scap’d The many perilous and fearful falls Of waters wild and foamy, tumbling fast From the shagg’d altitude. But, ere his pray’rs Rose to their destin’d Heav’n, another sight, Than all preceding far more terrible, Palsied devotion’s ardour. On the Snow, Dappled with ruby drops, a track was made By steps precipitate; a rugged path Down the steep frozen chasm had mark’d the fate Of some night traveller, whose bleeding form Had toppled from the Summit. Lower still The ANCHORET descended, ’till arrived At the first ridge of silv’ry battlements, Where, lifeless, ghastly, paler than the snow On which her cheek repos’d, his darling Maid Slept in the dream of Death! Frantic and wild