XV.
And laugh’d, in joy, the fiendish throng,
Mix’d with ghosts of the mouldering dead:
And their grisly wings, as they floated along,
Whistled in murmurs dread.
XVI.
And her skeleton form the dead Nun rear’d,
Which dripp’d with the chill dew of hell.
In her half-eaten eyeballs two pale flames appear’d,
And triumphant their gleam on the dark Monk glared,