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Laste nyghte, as sad I chanced to straye,
The village deathe-belle smote my eare, They winked asyde, and seemed to saye," Countesse, prepare-thy end is neare.
And now, when happye peasantes sleepe,
My spirits flag-my hopes decaye
Still that dread deathe-belle strikes my eare, And many a boding seems to saye, Countesse, prepare thy end is neare.'
Thus sore and sad that ladye grieved,
And ere the dawne of day appeared,
In Cumnor Hall so long and dreare, Full manye a piercing screame was hearde, And many a cry of mortal feare.
The deathe-belle thrice was hearde to ring,
The mastiffe howled at village doore,
The oaks were shattered on the greene; Woe was the houre for never more
That haplesse countesse e'er was seene.
And in that manor now no more
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Halle.
The village maides, with fearful glance, Avoid the antient moss-growne walle; Nor ever leade the merrye dance Among the groves of Cumnor Halle.
Full manye a traveller oft hath sighed, And pensive wepte the countess' falle, As wandering onward they've espied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Halle.
LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST LEAF OF A
LADY'S COMMON-PLACE BOOK.
Book! as fair S-
Or melancholy guide her hand, unseen,
darts his arrowy rays,
1H THE DUELLIST, AN ELEGY.
Stranger! who sleeps in yonder nameless grave? I saw thee pause and linger o'er the tomb, Where to the gale those thorns their branches wave, And evening deepens on that yew-tree's gloom.
There sleeps my friend,' the pensive stranger cried: 'O'er the blank stone have twenty winters past: Yet, as the gale amid that yew-tree sighed,
Methought again I heard him breathe his last.
Yes! for I saw the last convulsive start,
That spoke the struggle closed of life and death: Felt the last pulse that trembled from his heart; And heard the sigh that told his parting breath.
Fixed in his breast the adverse weapon stood' 'Stranger! when died he in his country's cause? Blest be the man whose pure and generous blood Flows for his country's liberty and laws!'
O why the grief of other days recall?
Wielding unhallowed arms 'twas his to fall:
One word, one careless word, escaped his tongue ; One careless word, from guile, from anger free. Blood, blood must cleanse the unsuspected wrongMeet on the heath, beside the lonely tree'—
'So spake the foe; nor, parting, did he hide
• What shall I do? custom! thy tyrant sway,
• That field perchance consigns thee to the dead,
'Yes, throbs of nature ! through my inmost soul, From nerve to nerve your strong vibrations dartHark, duty speaks-Rebellious pride control,
And bow to heaven's behest the swelling heart.