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Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek, Well might her paleness terror speak! For there were seen, in that dark wall, Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall. Who enters at such griesly door, Shall ne'er, I ween, find exit more. In each a slender meal was laid, Of roots, of water, and of bread: By each, in Benedictine dress, Two haggard monks stood motionless ; Who, holding high a blazing torch, Shewed the grim entrance of the porch : Reflecting back the smoky beam, The dark-red walls and arches gleam. Hewn stones and cement were displayed, And building tools in order laid.
And, with despite and envy fired,
Or who, in desperate doubt of grace,
Of some foul crime the stain ;
. Or thought more grace to gain, If, in her cause, they wrestled down Feelings their nature strove to own. By strange device were they brought there, They knew not how, and knew not where.
To speak the Chapter's doom,
Alive, within the tomb;
But stopped, because that woeful maid,
'Twas ocean's swells and falls ;
So massive were the walls.
At length, an effort sent apart
And light came to her eye,
Like that left on the Cheviot peak,
By Autumn's stormy sky;
And arm'd herself to bear.
In form so soft and fair.
," I speak not to implore your grace;
Successless might I sue:
Vain are your masses too.
For three long years I bowed my pride,
But, did my fate and wish agree,
That loved, or was avenged, like me!
« The king approved his favourite's aim ; In vain a rival barred his claim,
Whose faith with Clare's was plight,