Part II: Section 7

When eve with darkening pall had coveredThe peak of every Grusian hill,The Demon round the Convent hovered,As oft ere now—all was so still,So sacred, that his thoughts of illFaltered a while, nor for a spaceDared he draw nigh that holy place,But wandered aimless, sadly thinkingHow durst he break that peace divine,And fain would quit his fell design,While every leaf he trod on, shrinking,Seemed to cry out, as though affrighted.He raised his eyes and saw the beamsReflected from the lamp that lightedHer cell (she waits some guest it seems);Then in the silence that surroundedHe heard a tinkling lute that sounded,And, rhythmical as falling tears,The strain of lute and voice he hears:Soft cadence rising, flowing, falling,Music of song and lute so even,Melting melodious, as if HeavenFrom out her store one tune had given,As if an angel's voice were calling:"Come back, dear love, come back, for seeHow I have stolen down to thee,To sing of what was wont to beAnd charm a little of thy sadness."Then all love's torture and love's madnessPossessed his soul—what pain to hearThe long unspoken words of love!He strove to fly—he could not move—And from his eye there rolled a tear,As a memorial stands to prove:For still beside Tamàra's cellThere stands a rock all seared and brokenBy tear that scalded where it fell,No human tear, but who can tellWhat anguished eye left such a token.