"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 appeared,
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 aërial voice was heard to call,
And thrice the raven flapped its wing
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
The mastiff howled at village door,
The oaks were shattered on the green;
Woe was the hour—for never more
That hapless countess e'er was seen!
And in that manor now no more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball;
For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall.
The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient mossgrown wall;
Nor ever lead the merry dance
Among the groves of Cumnor Hall.
Full many a traveler oft hath sighed
And pensive wept the countess' fall,
As wand'ring onwards they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.
William F. Mickle.