Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/12



And all was still—the sweeping blast Caught not a whisper as it pass'd; Tho shadowy forms were seen no more, The tombs deserted as before; And the wide forest wav'd immense, In dark and lone magnificence In Lindheim’s towers the feast had clos'd; The song was hush'd, the bard repos'd; Sleep settled on the weary guest, And the castle's lord retir'd to rest. To rest!—the captive doom'd to die May slumber, when his hour is nigh; The seaman, when the billows foam, Rock'd on the mast, may dream of home; The warrior, on the battle's eve, May win from care a short reprieve; But earth and heaven alike deny Their peace to guilt's o'erwearied eye; And night, that brings to grief a calm, To toil a pause, to pain a balm, Hath spells terrific in her course, Dread sounds and shadows for remorse, Voices, that long from earth had fled, And steps and echoes from the dead; And many a dream, whose forms arise, Like a darker world's realities! Call them not vain illusions—born, But for the wise and brave to scorn!