Still nearer to the glimm'ring light
The tow'ring figure strode,
Till full, and horrid to the sight,
The murther'd Edward stood.
His hand a broken dagger sway'd,
Like Time's dark threat'ning dart;
And pointed to the rugged blade
That quiver'd in his heart.
The blood still trickled from his head,
And clotted was his hair,
That on his manly shoulders spread;
His mangled breast was bare.
His face was like the muddy sky
Before the coming snow;
And dark and dreadful was his eye,
And cloudy was his brow.
Pale Conrad shrunk, but grasp'd his sword;
Fear thrill'd in ev'ry vein;
His quiv'ring lip half-spoke its word;
He paus'd, and shrunk again.
"Pale bloody spectre, at this hour
Why do'st thou haunt the night?
Has the deep gloomy vault no power
To keep thee from my sight?
"Why do'st thou glare? Why do'st thou wave
That fatal cursed knife?
The deed is done, and from the grave
Who can recall to life?
"Why rolls thine eye beneath thy brow,
Dark as the midnight storm?
What do'st thou want? O, let me know!
But hide thy dreadful form.
"I'd give the life's blood from my heart
To wash my crime away:
If thou'rt a spirit, O, depart!
Nor haunt a wretch of clay.
"Say, do'st thou with the blessed dwell?
Return and blessed be!
Or com'st thou from the lowest hell?
I am more curst than thee."