On the altar of their hate.
But, hark! through the forest there sweeps a wail
More wild than the tempest-blast,
As each commences the darkling tale
Of the stern and shadowy past—
And the spell that has power, in this dread hour,
No pang of our’s controls—
Nor may mortal dare in the watch to share
That is kept by the Damnèd Souls!