XXV.

And now that blind old Abbot rose, To speak the Chapter’s doom On those the wall was to enclose, Alive, within the tomb: But stopped, because that woful maid, Gathering her powers, to speak essayed. Twice she essayed, and twice in vain; Her accents might no utterance gain; Nought but imperfect murmurs slip From her convulsed and quivering lip; ’Twixt each attempt all was so still, You seemed to hear a distant rill— ’Twas ocean’s swells and falls; For though this vault of sin and fear Was to the sounding surge so near, A tempest there you scarce could hear, So massive were the walls.