XVII.

While round the fire such legends go, Far different was the scene of woe, Where, in a secret aisle beneath, Council was held of life and death. It was more dark and lone, that vault, Than the worse dungeon cell: Old Colwulf built it, for his fault, In penitence to dwell, When he, for cowl and beads, laid down The Saxon battle-axe and crown. This den, which, chilling every sense Of feeling, hearing, sight, Was called the Vault of Penitence, Excluding air and light, Was, by the prelate Sexhelm, made A place of burial for such dead As, having died in mortal sin, Might not be laid the church within. ’Twas now a place of punishment; Whence if so loud a shriek were sent, As reached the upper air, The hearers blessed themselves, and said, The spirits of the sinful dead Bemoaned their torments there.