Golfre, a Gothic Swiss Tale. in Five Parts

Where freezing wastes of dazzl’ing Snow O’er LEMAN’s Lake rose, tow’ring; The BARON GOLFRE’s Castle strong Was seen, the silv’ry peaks among, With ramparts, darkly low’ring!—

Tall Battlements of flint, uprose, Long shadowing down the valley, A grove of sombre Pine, antique, Amid the white expanse would break, In many a gloomy alley.

A strong portcullis entrance show’d, With ivy brown hung over; And stagnate the green moat was found, Whene’er the Traveler wander’d round, Or moon-enamour’d Lover.

Within the spacious Courts were seen A thousand gothic fancies; Of banners, trophies, armour bright, Of shields, thick batter’d in the fight, And interwoven lances.

The BARON GOLFRE long had been To solitude devoted; And oft, in pray’r would pass the night ’Till day’s vermillion stream of light Along the blue hill floated.

And yet, his pray’r was little mark’d With pure and calm devotion; For oft, upon the pavement bare, He’d dash his limbs and rend his hair With terrible emotion!

And sometimes he, at midnight hour Would howl, like wolves, wide-prowling; And pale, the lamps would glimmer round— And deep, the self-mov’d bell would sound A knell prophetic, tolling!

For, in the Hall, three lamps were seen, That quiver’d dim;—and near them A bell rope hung, that from the Tow’r Three knells would toll, at midnight’s hour, Startl’ing the soul to hear them!

And oft, a dreadful crash was heard, Shaking the Castle’s chambers! And suddenly, the lights would turn To paly grey, and dimly burn, Like faint and dying embers.

Beneath the steep, a Maiden dwelt, The dove-eyed ZORIETTO; A damsel blest with ev’ry grace— And springing from as old a race— As Lady of LORETTO!

Her dwelling was a Goatherd’s poor; Yet she his heart delighted; Their little hovel open stood, Beside a lonesome frowning wood, To travellers—benighted.

Yet oft, at midnight when the Moon Its dappled course was steering, The Castle bell would break their sleep, And ZORIETTO slow would creep— To bar the wicket—fearing!

What did she fear? O! dreadful thought! The Moon’s wan lustre, streaming; The dim grey lamps, the crashing sound, The lonely Bittern—shrieking round The roof,—with pale light gleaming.

And often, when the wintry wind Loud whistled o’er their dwelling; They sat beside their faggot fire While ZORIETTO’s aged Sire A dismal Tale was telling.

He told a long and dismal Tale How a fair LADY perish’d; How her sweet Baby, doom’d to be The partner of her destiny Was by a peasant cherish’d!

He told a long and dismal Tale, How, from a flinty Tow’r A Lady wailing sad was seen, The lofty grated bars between, At dawnlight’s purple hour!

He told a Tale of bitter woe, His heart with pity swelling, How the fair LADY pin’d and died, And how her Ghost, at Christmas-tide— Would wander,—near her dwelling.

He told her, how a lowly DAME The LADY, lorn, befriended— Who chang’d her own dear baby, dead, And took the LADY’s in its stead— And then—“Forgive her Heav’n!” He said, And so, his Story ended.