XXXI |
|
XXXI
The vaults beneath the mosaic stone
Contain`d the dead of ages gone:
Their names were on the graven floor,
But now illegible with gore;
The carved crests, and curious hues
The varied marble`s veins diffuse,
Were smear`d, and slippery — stain`d, and strown
With broken swords, and helms o`erthrown:
There were dead above, and the dead below
Lay cold in many a coffin`d row;
You might see them piled in sable state,
By a pale light through a gloomy grate:
But War had enter`d their dark caves,
And stored along the vaulted graves
Her sulphurous treasures, thickly spread
In masses by the fleshless dead:
Here, throughout the siege, had been
The Christians` chiefest magazine;
To these a late-form`d train now led,
Minotti`s last and stern resource,
Against the foe`s o`erwhelming force.
|
