He hears in the distance a faint muffled drum,
And the low sullen boom of the death-tolling bell;
The block is prepared, and the headsman is come,
And the victim, bareheaded, walks forth from his cell.—
No! No! 'twas a vision! his hour was not yet,
And waking, he turn'd on his pallet of straw,
And a form by his side he could never forget,
By the pale misty light of a taper he saw.
"'Tis I! 'tis thy Winifred!"—softly she said,
"Arouse thee, and follow—be bold, never fear!