Page:Poems - Southey (1799) volume 2.djvu/22

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10

Lifting her tatter'd mantle, coil'd aroundShe saw a serpent gnawing at her heart.
The plumeless bat with short shrill note flits by,And the night-raven's scream came fitfully,Borne on the hollow blast. Eager the MaidLook'd to the shore, and now upon the bankLeaps, joyful to escape, yet trembling stillIn recollection.There, a mouldering pileStretch'd its wide ruins, o'er the plain belowCasting a gloomy shade, save where the moonShone thro' its fretted windows: the dark Yew,Withering with age, branched there its naked roots,And there the melancholy Cypress rear'dIts head; the earth was heav'd with many a mound,And here and there a half-demolish'd tomb.
And now, amid the ruin’s darkest shade,The Virgin’s eye beheld where pale blue flames
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