Along the caverned dungeon's gloom The tyrant strides in haste; And, powerless, to his dreadful doom The victim followeth fast. The dazëd captives quake and stare At the sullen torch's blood-red glare, And the lover starts aghast At the deathlike forms they wear! Too late, the truth upon him breaks!-- Romara's heart is faint!-- "Behold thy bride!" the baron shrieks-- "Wilt hear the wedding chaunt? This chain once bound my father here, Who would have found his grave-- The cursed dotard!--'neath the wave,-- Had not thy hateful hand been near.-- Be this the bride thou now shalt wed! This dungeon dank thy bridal bed!-- And when thy youthful blood shall freeze In death,--may fiends thy spirit seize!"-- Plantagenet hath minions fell Who do their master's bidding well:-- Few days Romara pines in dread:-- His soul is with the sainted dead!-- Plantagenet hath reached his bourne! What terrors meet his soul forlorn And full of stain,--I may not say:-- Reveal them shall the Judgment Day!-- Her orisons at matin hour, At noon, and eve, and midnight toll, For him, doth tearful Agnes pour!-- Jesu Maria! sain his soul! THE BARON'S YULE FEAST. A Christmas Rhyme. CANTO II. Symphonious notes of dulcet plaint Followed the stranger minstrel's chaunt; And, when his sounding harp was dumb, The crowd, with loud applausive hum, Gave hearty guerdon for his strain; While some with sighs expressed what pain Had pierced their simple bosoms thorow To hear his song of death and sorrow. "Come bear the mead-cup to our guest," Said Thorold to his daughter; "We thought to hear, at our Yule feast, A lay of mirth and laughter; But, to thy harp, thou well hast sung A song that may impart, For future hours, to old and young, Deep lessons to the heart. Yet, should not life be all a sigh! Good Snell, do thou a burthen try Shall change our sadness into joy: Such as thou trollest in blythe mood, On days of sunshine in the wood. Tell out thy heart withouten fear-- For none shall stifle free thoughts here! But, bear the mead-cup, Edith sweet! We crave our stranger guest will greet All hearts, again, with minstrelsy, When Snell hath trolled his mirth-notes free!" Fairer than fairest flower that blows,-- Sweeter than breath of sweetest rose,-- Still on her cheek, in lustre left, The tear the minstrel's tale had reft From its pearl-treasure in the brain-- The limbec where, by mystic vein, From the heart's fountains are distilled Those crystals, when 'tis overfilled,-- With downcast eye, and trembling hands, Edith before the stranger stands-- Stranger to all but her! Though well the baron notes his brow, While the young minstrel kneeleth low-- Love's grateful worshipper!-- And doth with lips devout impress The hand of his fair ministress!