Abb. It may not be,
A secret presses here, which ere my soul
Can quit in peace its tenement of clay,
Must be discharged; and on no other spot
May I divulge that secret.
Aus. Aid me then.
Here divers tombs of knights attract my eyes,
But none with such device as thou hast said.
Abb. Look where the eastern window proudly throws
A stream of crimson light, when ev'ning's gloom
Enshrouds all else—in token of respect
To him who sleeps below. Did not the chill
Of age, perhaps of death, benumb my limbs,
My watchful feet, accustomed to the path,
Had led me to the spot.
Aus. 'Tis here.
Abb. Alas!
There then at rest lies he, the brave, the young,
And oh! for kingly shame, for kingly woe,
The murdered, the betrayed.
Aus. Compose thyself.
Here on this mutilated effigy,
(Stern lesson of rebuke for haughty pride,)
By warrior felt, rest thee.
Abb. What sound was that?
Aus. Nought save the wind, which tired of being pent
Within these cloistered aisles, and heavy made
By penitential sighs, doth sullen moan
For liberty, and free access to heaven.
Abb. 'Tis hushed, whate'er it was. Now listen, Austin:—
When 'gainst the legions of the Saracen
The hearts of knights with holy ardour burned,
And kings and nobles left their native land,
The young Montalbert, fav'rite of his prince,
Joined those heroic ranks.
Aus. Montalbert! he
Of whom tradition speaks a royal damsel
Viewed with eyes of love?