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!