OSRIC — THE LION! A ROMANCE. Matthew Gregory Lewis Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T93900 K075827.000 Lewis, M. G. (Matthew Gregory), 1775-1818. Osric the lion!: A romance. London printed in the year 1797 pp. []-8. 8p.; 8⁰.

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OSRIC — THE LION ! A ROMANCE . SWIFT roll the Rhine's billows , and water the plains , Where Falkenstein Castle's majestic remains , Their moss-cover'd turrets still rear ; Oft loves the gaunt wolf midst the ruins to prowl , What Time from the battlements pours the lone owl Her plaints in the passenger's ear . No longer resound through the vaults of yon hall The song of the minstrel , and mirth of the ball ; Those pleasures for ever are fled ; There now dwells the bat with her light-shunning brood ; There ravens and vultures now clamour for food , And all is dark , silent , and dread ! Ha ! Dost thou not see by the Moon's trembling light , Directing his steps , where advances a Knight , His eye big with vengeance and fate ? 'Tis Osric — the Lion , his Nephew who leads , And swift up the crackling old stair-case proceeds , Gains the hall , and quick closes the gate . Now round him young Carloman casting his eyes , Surveys the sad scene with dismay and surprize , And fear steals the rose from his cheeks ; His spirits forsake him , his courage is flown ; The hand of Sir Osric he clasps in his own , And while his voice falters he speaks : — " Dear Uncle , " he murmurs , " why linger we here ? 'Tis late , and these chambers are damp and are drear ; Keen blows through the ruins the blast ! Oh ! let us away and our journey pursue ; Fair Blumenberg's Castle will rise on our view , Soon as Falkenstein Forest is past . " Why roll thus your eye-balls ? Why glare they so wild ? Oh ! chide not my weakness , nor frown , that a child Should view these apartments with dread ; For know , that full oft have I heard from my Nurse , There still on this Castle has rested a curse , Since innocent blood here was shed . " She said , too , bad spirits , and ghosts all in white , Here use to resort at the dead time of night , Nor vanish till breaking of day ; And still at their coming is heard the deep tone Of a bell — loud and awful — Hark ! hark ! 'twas a groan ! Good Uncle , oh ! let us away ! " " Peace , serpent ! " thus Osric — the Lion , replies , While rage and malignity gloom in his eyes ; " Thy journey and life here must close : Thy Castle's proud turrets no more shalt thou see ; No more betwixt Blumenberg's Lordship and me Shalt thou stand , and my greatness oppose . " My Brother lies breathless on Palestine's plains , And though once remov'd , to his noble domains My right can no rival deny : Then , stripling , prepare on my dagger to bleed ; No succour is near , and thy fate is decreed ; Commend thee to Jesus , and die ! " Thus saying , he seizes the boy by the arm , Whose grief rends the vaulted hall's roof , while alarm His heart of all fortitude robs : His limbs sink beneath him ; distracted with fears , He falls at his Uncle's feet , bathes them with tears , And — " Spare me ! Oh ! spare me ! " he sobs . But ah ! 'tis in vain that he strives to appease The miscreant ; in vain does he cling round his knees , And sue in soft accents for life : Unmov'd by his sorrow — unmov'd by his pray'r , Fierce Osric has twisted his hand in his hair , And aims at his bosom a knife . But e'er the steel blushes with blood , strange to tell ! Self-struck , does the tongue of the hollow-ton'd bell The presence of midnight declare : And while , with amazement , his hair bristles high , Hears Osric a voice , loud and terrible , cry , In sounds heart appalling — " Forbear ! " Straight curses and shrieks thro' the chambers resound , With hellish mirth mingled ; the walls shake around ; The groaning roof threatens to fall ; Loud bellows the thunder ; blue lightnings still flash ; The casements they clatter ; chains rattle ; doors clash , And flames spread their waves through the hall . The clamour increases ; the portals expand ; O'er the pavement's black marble now rushes a band Of daemons all dropping with gore ; In visage so grim , and so monstrous in height , That Carloman screams , as they burst on his sight , And sinks without sense on the floor . Not so his fell Uncle : he sees that the throng Impels , loudly shrieking , a female along , And well the sad spectre he knows : The daemons with curses her steps onward urge ; Her shoulders with whips form'd of serpents they scourge , And fast from her wounds the blood flows . " Oh ! welcome , " she cry'd , and her voice spoke despair ; Oh ! welcome , Sir Osric , the torments to share , Of which thou hast made me the prey : Twelve years have I languish'd thy coming to see ; Ulrilda , who perish'd dishonour'd by thee , Now calls thee to anguish away ! My ruin compleated , thy love became hate ; Thy hand gave the draught which consign'd me to Fate ; Nor thought I death lurk'd in the bowl ; Unfit for the grave , stain'd with guilt , swell'd with pride , Unblest , unabsolv'd , unrepenting I dy'd , And daemons straight seiz'd on my soul ! " Thou com'st , and with transport I feel my breast swell ! Full long I have suffer'd the torments of hell , And now shall its pleasures be mine ! See , see , how the fiends are athirst for thy blood ! Twelve years has my panting heart furnish'd their food , Come , wretch , let them feast upon thine ! " She said , and the daemons their prey flock'd around ; They dash'd him with horrible yell on the ground , And blood down his limbs trickl'd fast : His eyes from their sockets with fury they tore ; They fed on his entrails , all reeking with gore , And his heart was Ulrilda's repast . But now the grey cock told the coming of day ; The fiends with their victim straight vanish'd away , And Carloman's heart throbb'd again : With terror recalling the deeds of the night , He rose , and from Falkenstein speeding his flight , Soon reach'd his paternal domain . Since then all with horror the ruins behold ; No shepherd , though stray'd be a lamb from his fold , No mother , though lost be her child , The fugitive dares in these chambers to seek , Where fiends nightly revel , and guilty ghosts shriek , In accents most fearful and wild ! Oh ! shun them , ye pilgrims , tho' late be the hour , Tho' loud howl the tempest , and fast fall the show'r , From Falkenstein Castle be gone ! There still their said banquet Hell's denizens share ; There Osric — the Lion , still raves in despair ; Breathe a prayer for his soul , and pass on !