Again
my attendant, muffled and black,
Strode after, to escort me.
Still on we went, till I grew so tired
That my knees could scarce support me.
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And
lo! the heart within my breast
Was cut, and gaped asunder.
I felt the red blood streaming down
From the open wound, with wonder.
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And
often, myself, I know not why,
As we passed a house, I'd linger
To smear the post with the blood of my wound,
In which I dipped my finger.
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And
every time I marked a house
I heard dread echoes rolling;
With melancholy note afar
Some passing bell was tolling.
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The
golden moon grew wan and sad,
And shone more pale in heaven;
Across her face, like sable steeds,
The tempest-clouds were driven.
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And,
following at my back, there came
That muffled form and eerie,
With the axe beneath his mantle hid.
I went till I was weary.
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15
I
walked till we reached the Cathedral square,
And lo! before I knew it,
I had paused where the door was standing wide,
And, having paused, passed through it.
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Silence
and death and darkness reigned
In the minster's vasty spaces,
While, to show the gloom, some hanging lamps
Burned low in their dusky places.
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I
wandered along the pillared aisles;
No sound save, ringing hollow,
The tread of my faithful friend behind!
I could hear his footsteps follow.
