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Classic and Contemporary Poetry


THE MINIATURE by JOHN BANISTER TABB

First Line: I KNOW NOT WHENCE, BUT ON THE MORNING AIR
Last Line: "LIKE STARTLED PHANTOMS, FLOCK UPON MY EAR, ""BEWARE!"

I know not whence, but on the morning air
A ghastly whisper pales my waking cheek;
A shudder in its warning seems to speak, "Beware!"

I woke: the wind at intervals,
A mournful vigil kept,
As o'er a sepulchre, around
The chamber where I slept.
The casement rattled in the blast,
The breathing curtains stirred;
Anon, throughout their shroudy length,
A stifled sigh was heard --
A brooding dread, low whispering
In mystic monotone --
"It was a deed of darkness,
And in the darkness done."

Again at noon, but thinner, faintlier, there,
As spent with vigil, heaves a stifled sigh
(I turn to see; but nothing meets the eye) "Beware!"

The pallor of a wasted lamp,
A fitful glimmer flung
Athwart a miniature above
The sculptured mantel hung,
Where gleams of melancholy light,
With conscious shadows wrought
Upon the lineaments portrayed
A malady of thought --
A dim-remembered agony,
Interpreting the tone --
"It was a deed of darkness,
And in the darkness done!"

At twilight grim, in nature's dumb despair,
As swoops the prowling darkness of the day,
Throbs, in a sudden torment of dismay, "Beware!"

Aghast, I listened, motionless,
When lo! a chilling sound --
The vague pulsation of a heart
Beneath a mortal wound --
And from the picture quivering,
As smitten wan with pain
Dark, stormy drops fell suddenly
As a reluctant rain:
And still the moaning monody
Rhymed on in undertone --
"It was a deed of darkness
And in the darkness done."

At midnight, like an incantation drear,
The hollow tide in broken thunder-tone
Sobs, with the beating of my heart, a groan, "Beware!"

The spectral eyes drooped languidly,
The hand convulsive clung,
The bell of midnight clashed the hour
With stern prophetic tongue;
Then, all was blank -- oblivious
In icy calm I lay --
The morning whitened to behold
My raven tresses gray;
And beats forever on my brain
The throbbing monotone --
"It was a deed of darkness
And in the darkness done."

Thus, as a strain bewildered, everywhere,
The trooping echoes of a formless fear,
Like startled phantoms, flock upon my ear, "Beware!"



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