Of this form that shall nevermore feel the sun,

This blood—a score of years ago—

Belonged to a noble hidalgo,

And I am—”

Here the ancient clock,

With a rusty, rumbling sound,

Shook as it struck—and the matin cock

Answered the solemn chime of the clock,

Till it echoed round and round!

The embers that on the hearth-stone lay