‘If that my beauty is but small, Among court ladies all despised, Why didst thou rend it from that hall, Where, scornful Earl! it well was prized?
‘But, Leicester, or I much am wrong, Or ’tis not beauty lures thy vows; Rather, ambition’s gilded crown Makes thee forget thy humble spouse.
‘Then, Leicester, why,—again I plead, The injured surely may repine,— Why didst thou wed a country maid, When some fair Princess might be thine?
‘Why didst thou praise my humble charms, And oh! then leave them to decay? Why didst thou win me to thy arms, Then leave to mourn the livelong day?
‘The village maidens of the plain Salute me lowly as they go; Envious they mark my silken train, Nor think a Countess can have woe.
‘How far less blest am I than them! Daily to pine and waste with care! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air.
‘My spirits flag—my hopes decay— Still that dread death-bell smites my ear: And many a boding seems to say, Countess, prepare, thy end is near!’
Thus sore and sad that Lady grieved In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, And let fall many a bitter tear.
And ere the dawn of day appear’d, In Cumnor Hall so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard, And many a cry of mortal fear.
The death-bell thrice was heard to ring; An aerial voice was heard to call, And thrice the raven flapp’d its wing Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.