V.
What gleaming light,
Shoots forth its beams,
Through the deep night?
Say, what this means?
All else is still
On the castle hill,
Save the warder’s cry, and the deep clock’s chime,
That warns the pale ghost of his passing time.
That ray from the baron’s window gleams,
And, as far down on the lake it streams,
Three spirits cross its path.
(God shield us from their wrath!)
By blackest art they’ve laid to sleep
The warder ’neath the deep black lake,
There too they’ve made the ban-dog keep
His lone watch, lest the warder wake;
The smould’ring brands of the watch-fire bright,
They plunge ’neath the wave, as well they might.
For such foul arts of gramarye,
No mortal eye may ever see.
’Tis not for such as me to tell,
What did they in the baron’s cell.
’Tis said that voices loudly groan’d
Around the turret’s height;
And e’en the graves in churchyard moan’d,
With many a restless sprite;
That then in cloud of flame and smoke,
These spirits their departure took.