“A dark unhallow’d silent grave—”
Aghast the Caitiff utter’d.
“’Twas I, beneath the Goatherd’s bed
“The golden sword did cover;
“’Twas I who tore the quiv’ring wound,
“Pluck’d forth the heart, and scatter’d round
“The life-stream of thy Lover.”
And now he writh’d in ev’ry limb,
And big his heart was swelling;
Fresh peals of thunder echoed strong,