Anon03/14/26, 08:14No.25139333
i don't know any prose but i like walter scott's poetry.
>XXI
>When thus her face was given to view—
>Although so pallid was her hue,
>It did a ghastly contrast bear
>To those bright ringlets glistering fair—
>Her look composed, and steady eye,
>Bespoke a matchless constancy;
>And there she stood so calm and pale,
>That, but her breathing did not fail,
>And motion slight of eye and head,
>And of her bosom, warranted
>That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
>You might have thought a form of wax,
>Wrought to the very life, was there;
>So still she was, so pale, so fair.
>XXII.
>Her comrade was a sordid soul,
> Such as does murder for a meed;
>Who, but of fear, knows no control,
>Because his conscience, seared and foul,
> Feels not the import of his deed;
>One, whose brute-feeling ne’er aspires
>Beyond his own more brute desires.
>Such tools the Tempter ever needs,
>To do the savagest of deeds;
>For them no visioned terrors daunt,
>Their nights no fancied spectres haunt,
>One fear with them, of all most base,
>The fear of death—alone finds place.
>This wretch was clad in frock and cowl,
>And shamed not loud to moan and howl,
>His body on the floor to dash,
>And crouch, like hound beneath the lash;
>While his mute partner, standing near,
>Waited her doom without a tear.
>XXIII.
>Yet well the luckless wretch might shriek,
>Well might her paleness terror speak!
>For there were seen, in that dark wall,
>Two niches, narrow, deep, and tall;
>Who enters at such grisly door
>Shall ne’er, I ween, find exit more.
>In each a slender meal was laid,
>Of roots, of water, and of bread:
>By each, in Benedictine dress,
>Two haggard monks stood motionless;
>Who, holding high a blazing torch,
>Showed the grim entrance of the porch:
>Reflecting back the smoky beam,
>The dark-red walls and arches gleam.
>Hewn stones and cement were displayed,
>And building tools in order laid.
>XXIV.
>These executioners were chose,
>As men who were with mankind foes,
>And with despite and envy fired,
>Into the cloister had retired;
> Or who, in desperate doubt of grace,
> Strove, by deep penance, to efface
> Of some foul crime the stain;
> For, as the vassals of her will,
> Such men the Church selected still,
> As either joyed in doing ill,
> Or thought more grace to gain,
>If, in her cause, they wrestled down
>Feelings their nature strove to own.
>By strange device were they brought there,
>They knew not how, nor knew not where
