Page:A Tale of the Secret Tribunal.pdf/14

    No! there are murmurs on the air,
And a voice is heard that cries—"Despair!"
And he who trembles fain would deem
'Twas the whisper of a waking dream.
Was it but this?—again ’tis there,
Again is heard—"Despair! Despair!"
'Tis past—its tones have slowly died
In echoes on the mountain side;
Heard but by him, they rose, they fell,
He knew their fearful meaning well,
And, shrinking from the midnight gloom,
As from the shadow of the tomb,
Yet shuddering, turn'd in pale dismay,
When broke the dawn's first kindling ray,
And sought, amidst the forest wild,
Some shade, where sunbeam never smil'd.

Yes! hide thee, Guilt!—the laughing morn
Wakes in a heaven of splendour born!
The storms that shook the mountain crest
Have sought their viewless world of rest.
High from his cliffs, with ardent gaze,
Soars the young eagle in the blaze,
Exulting, as he wings his way,
To revel in the fount of day,
And brightly past his banks of vine,
In glory flows the monarch Rhine;