98
THE GOLDEN VIOLET.
Maiden, ah! where is thy way address'd?
Where is the red cross that hung on thy breast,
Safety and solace in danger and fear?
Both are around thee,—why is it not near?
Enter not thou yon cursed dell.
Thy rash step has enter'd. Lost maiden, farewell.
Closed the huge and shapeless crags around,
There was not of life a sight or sound;
The earth was parched, the trees were sear'd,
And blasted every branch appear'd;
At one end yawned a gloomy cave,
Black, as its mouth were that of the grave;
And dark, as if the waters of death
Were in its depths, rose a well beneath.
But the deadliest sight of that deadly place
Was to gaze on the human wanderer's face:
