Landon in The Literary Gazette 1826/Death Feast

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Literary Gazette, 22nd April, 1826, Page 252


ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE DEATH-FEAST.*

Irregular Lines.

There was martial clamour heard
    In the Convent's sacred halls,
And the noise of armed men
    Sounded strange from cloister'd walls.

It was the vesper hour,
    But no vesper then was sung;
Instead of organ or of hymn,
    Iron boot and steel spur rung.

The Moon around the Chapel shone:
    What wont she to see there,
But aged men bent meekly down
    In their still hour of prayer?

Now her beams are lost in light
    That torch and taper fling;
And falls that light on a banquet board,
    And on a festal ring.

Cuirasses gleam'd, and waved
    White plumes in their war pride;
While with their beads and dark gray cowls
    The Friars stood beside.

They are foemen—they are Gauls—
    Curses to Spain's fair land:
How can the Convent's holy men
    Join with such lawless band?

Yet the Prior sat at the board-end,
    And courteously carved he;
While his Monks mark'd not their hour of prayer,
    But join'd the revelry.

There were words of boasting joy,
    Of triumph o'er their foes;
And many a song and jest
    Around the wine-cup rose.

But somewhat of shadow fell,
    As came on the hours of night:
The haughty lip grew wan—
    The flashing eye less bright—


The laughing voice broke off
    In the middle of its tale—
And each one shudder'd as he saw
    His neighbour ghastly pale.

Heavily on the air
    There toll'd a midnight bell—
And every heart sank down
    It was so like a knell.

With a weak and trembling step,
    Rose the Prior from his place;
His voice was faint, his eyes were wild—
    It was a corpse's face.

"Now think upon your God—
    For I warn ye, we shall meet,
Ere another hour is past,
    Before his judgment-seat!

"Spoilers of God's fair earth!
    Profaners of his shrine!
Ye have feasted, and unto death—
    Mortal poison was in your wine!"

The morning Sun arose—
    Still the festal board was spread—
Still hosts and guests were round;
    But hosts and guests were dead!IOLE.


  • In the Literary Gazette, five or six years ago, the event
    was related on which this poem is founded. A wild and
    triumphant party of French officers were so entertained
    at a convent where they had established their head
    quarters.—I.