And by, the croaking Raven flew
And, whistling shrill, the night-blast blew
Like shrieks, that mark the dying!
But suddenly the tumult ceas’d—
And silence, still more fearful,
Around the little chamber spread
Such horrors as attend the dead,
Where no Sun glitters chearful!
“Now Jesu hear me!” Golfre cried,
“Hear me,” a faint voice mutter’d!