To inhabit the castle presume;
For chronicles tell, that by order sublime,
There Imogine suffers the pain of her crime,
And mourns her deplorable doom.
At midnight, four times in each year, does her sprite,
When mortals in slumber are bound,
Array’d in her bridal apparel of white,
Appear in the hall with the skeleton knight,
And shriek as he whirls her around.
While they drink out of skulls newly torn from the grave,