Page:Marmion - Walter Scott (ed. Bayne, 1889).pdf/80

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MARMION.
XVIII.But though, in the monastic pile,335Did of this penitential aisle Some vague tradition go,Few only, save the Abbot, knewWhere the place lay; and still more fewWere those, who had from him the clew340 To that dread vault to go.Victim and executionerWere blindfold when transported there.In low dark rounds the arches hung,From the rude rock the side-walls sprung;345The grave-stones, rudely sculptured o'er,Half sunk in earth, by time half wore,Were all the pavement of the floor;The mildew-drops fell one by one,With tinkling plash, upon the stone.350A cresset, in an iron chain,Which served to light this drear domain,With damp and darkness seem'd to strive,As if it scarce might keep alive;And yet it dimly served to show355The awful conclave met below.
XIX.There, met to doom in secrecy,Were placed the heads of convents three:All servants of Saint Benedict,The statutes of whose order strict360 On iron table lay;In long black dress, on seats of stone,Behind were these three judges shown By the pale cresset's ray:The Abbess of Saint Hilda's, there,365Sat for a space with visage bare,Until, to hide her bosom's swell,And tear-drops that for pity fell, She closely drew her veil:
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