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And soon the dreadful spell was o'er,
And, glimmering to the view,
A flame of ghastly blue.
Low from the inmost cave,
The vestments of the grave.
His cheek was wan as clay,
That beckon'd her away,
Her heart struck at her side,
The dews of summer night did fall,
The moon (sweet regent of the sky) Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall,
And many an oak that grew thereby. Now nought was heard beneath the skies
(The sounds of busy life were still), Save an unhappy lady's sighs,
That issued from that lonely pile. * Leicester (she cried), is this thy love,
That thou so oft hast sworn to me, To leave me in this lonely grove,
Immured in shameful privity?
• No more thou comest with lover's speed,
Thy once beloved bride to see; But be she alive, or be she dead,
I fear (stern earl) 's the same to thee. * Not so the usage I received,
When happy in my father's hall;
No chilling fears did me appal.
No lark more blithe, no flower more gay ; And, like the bird that haunts the thorn,
So merrily sung the livelong day. " If that my beauty is but small,
Among court ladies all despised, Why didst thou rend it from that hall
Where, scornful earl, it well was prized ? . And when you to me first made suit,
How fair I was you oft would say !
Then left the blossom to decay.
The rose is pale—the lily's dead-
Is sure the cause those charms are fled.
And tender love's repaid with scorn,
What floweret can endure the storm? "At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne,
Where every lady's passing rare ; That eastern flowers that shame the sun
Are not so glowing, not so fair.
Then, earl, why didst thou leave the bed
Where roses and where lilies vie, To seek a primrose, whose pale shades
Must sicken when those gaudes are by? " 'Mong rural beauties I was one,
Among the fields wild flowers are fair; Some country swain might me have won,
And thought my beauty passing rare. ' But, Leicester (or I much am wrong),
Or 'tis not beauty lures thy vows; Rather ambition's gilded crown
Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. Then, Leicester, why, again I plead
(The injured surely may repine), Why didst thou wed a country maid,
When some fair princess might be thine ? Why didst thou praise my humble charms,
And, oh! then leave them to decay ? Why didst thou win me to thy arms,
Then leave to mourn the livelong day? • The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go; Envious they mark my silken train,
Nor think a countess can have woe. The simple nymphs, they little know
How far more happy's their estateTo smile for joy—than sigh for woe
To be content-than to be great. - How far less bless'd am I than them!
Daily to pine and waste with care ! Like the poor plant, that from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air.
Nor, cruel earl, can I enjoy
The humble charms of solitude ! Your minions proud my peace destroy,
By sullen frowns or pratings rude. · Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,
The village death-bell smote my ear; They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say,
Countess, prepare-thy end is near. • And now, while happy peasants sleep,
Here I sit lonely and forlorn : No one to soothe me as I weep,
Save Philomel on yonder thorn. My spirits flag—my hopes decay
Still that dread death-bell smites my ear; And many a boding seems to say,
Countess, prepare—thy end is near.' Thus sore and sad that lady grieved,
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appear’d,
In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear,
And many a cry of mortal fear.
An aerial voice was heard to call,
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. The mastiff howl'd at village door,
The oaks were shatter'd on the green; Woe was the hour—for never more
That hapless countess e’er was seen.
And in that manor now no more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball; For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall; Nor ever lead the merry dance
Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. Full many a traveller oft bath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the countess' fall, As wandering onwards they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall!
ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST.
As near Porto Bello lying
On the gently swelling flood,
Our triumphant navy rode;
From the Spaniards' late defeat:
Drank success to England's fleet : On a sudden, shrilly sounding,
Hideous yells and shrieks were heard : Then each heart with fear confounding,
A sad troop of ghosts appear'd, All in dreary hammocks shrouded,
Which for windingsheets they wore, And with looks by sorrow clouded
Frowning on that hostile shore.