A host of phantoms come to lay dim siege
To phantom walls whose warriors were ghosts.
Afar a bugle flourished in the fog,
Disconsolate; no echo of the wood
To bear its music burden. To the moat
Advanced a herald. And within the wall
The grate was opened; and the gaunt-eyed youth
Held parley with him: "How the Earl would make
End of the long dispute to-day, and leave,
'Twixt three a single combat to decide."