56
CROFTEN TOWER.
Handsome, and proud, and arrogant,
His soul self-cursed with scorn,—
They said his Spanish mother died
The night her child was born.
His soul self-cursed with scorn,—
They said his Spanish mother died
The night her child was born.
He wooed and won a gentle girl,
Pure as the saints above!
She gave him all her sweet young trust,
Her confidence and love;
She glorified the tower awhile,
Like a stray sunlight beam,—
Then pallid grew; her face lost light,
Her eye its happy gleam.
Pure as the saints above!
She gave him all her sweet young trust,
Her confidence and love;
She glorified the tower awhile,
Like a stray sunlight beam,—
Then pallid grew; her face lost light,
Her eye its happy gleam.
One dreary night, when tempests roared,
And thunder shrieked in pain,
And sheets of livid lightning flashed
Their flame-tongues through the rain,—
Red blood was spilt! a right to Heaven
One weary soul had won!
But ah! the other? God be just!
When there's a murder done!
And thunder shrieked in pain,
And sheets of livid lightning flashed
Their flame-tongues through the rain,—
Red blood was spilt! a right to Heaven
One weary soul had won!
But ah! the other? God be just!
When there's a murder done!
He lived unpunished; but he died
In torments none can tell!
The anguish of his tortured soul
A foretaste was of hell.
His own hand cut the thread of life
At last; and all alone
Through the dark Silence he went forth,
Forth to the dread Unknown.
In torments none can tell!
The anguish of his tortured soul
A foretaste was of hell.
His own hand cut the thread of life
At last; and all alone
Through the dark Silence he went forth,
Forth to the dread Unknown.
