Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/9

 Heard by that car, awake on high E’en to thought's whispers ere they die; With all a mortal's awe I stand, Yet with pure heart, and stainless hand, To Heaven I lift that hand, and call For judgment on the criminal: The earth is dyed with bloodshed's hues, It cries for vengeance—I accuse!"

"Name thou the guilty! say for whom Those claim'st th' inevitable doom!"

"Albert of Lindheim—to the skies The voice of blood against him cries; A brother's blood—his hand is dyed With the deep stain of fratricide. One hour, one moment, hath reveal'd, What years in darkness had conceal'd, But all in vain—the gulph of time Refus'd to close upon his crime; And Guilt, that slept on flowers, shall know, The earthquake was but hush'd below!

Here, where amidst the noble dead, Aw'd by their fame, he dare not tread, Where, left by him to dark decay, Their trophies moulder fast away; Around us and beneath us lie The relics of his ancestry; The chiefs of Lindheim's ancient race, Each in his last low dwelling-place: But one is absent-o’er his grave The palmy shades of Syria wave; Far distant from his native Rhine, He died unmourn'd in Palestine; The Pilgrim sought the Holy Land, To perish by a brother's hand! Peace to his soul! though o'er his bed No dirge be pour’d, no tear be shed, Though all he lov’d his name forget, They live who shall avenge him yet!"