Back thro’ the hall she bent her way;
All, all was solitude around!
The candle shed a feeble ray,——
Tho’ a large mould of four to th’ pound.
Full closely to the fire she drew;
Adown her cheek a salt tear stole;
When, lo! a coffin out there flew,
And in her apron burnt a hole!
Spiders their busy death-watch tick’d;
A certain sign that Fate will frown;