214 THE BRIGHTON ROAD 



do so here, from the point where Alan Rookwood 

 visits the family vault, to his tragic end : 



" He then walked beneath the shadow of one of 

 the vews. chanting an odd stanza or so of one of his 

 wild staves, wrapped the while, it would seem, in 

 affectionate contemplation of the subject-matter of 

 his song : 



THE CHURCHYARD YEW. 



-Metuendaque succo 



Taxus.' 



A noxious tree is the churchyard yew, 

 As if from the dead its sap it drew ; 

 Dark are its branches, and dismal to see, 

 Like plumes at Death's latest solemnity. 

 Spectral and jagged, and black as the wings 

 Which some spirit of ill o'er a sepulchre flings : 

 Oh ! a terrible tree is the churchyard yew ; 

 Like it is nothing so grimly to view.' 



Yet this baleful tree hath a core so sound, 

 Can nought so tough in a grove be found : 

 From it were fashioned brave English bows, 

 The boast of our isle, and the dread of its foes. 

 For our sturdy sires cut their stoutest staves 

 From the branch that hung o'er their fathers' graves ; 

 And though it be dreary and dismal to view, 

 Staunch at the heart is the churchyard yew. 



" His dittv concluded, Alan entered the church, 

 taking care to leave the door slightly ajar, in order 

 to facilitate his grandson's entrance. For an instant 

 he lingered in the chancel. The yellow moonlight 

 iell upon the monuments of his race ; and, directed 

 by the instinct of hate, Alan's eye rested upon the 

 gilded entablature of his perfidious brother Reginald, 

 and muttering curses, ' not loud, but deep,' he passed 

 on. Having lighted his lantern in no tranquil mood, 

 he descended into the vault, observing a similar 

 caution with respect to the portal of the cemetery, 

 which he left partially unclosed, with the key in the 

 lock. Here he resolved to abide Luke's coming. The 

 reader knows what probability there was of his 

 expectations being realised. 



