A cloven shield, and broken spear, In ghastly writhes her mouth so wide "A happier spell I now shall try; And mark what flames from altar high, 'If of the rose's softest red The blaze shines forth to view, Then Wolfwold lives-but hell forbid The glimmering flame of blue !' The witch then raised her haggard arm, And waved her wand on high; And, while she spoke the mutter'd charm, Fair Ulla's knee swift smote the ground; Her lips, erewhile so like the rose, Her eyes, erewhile so starry bright, Were now transform'd to sightless white, And soon the dreadful spell was o'er, The quivering flame rose through the floor, Behind the altar's livid fire, Low from the inmost cave, The vestments of the grave. His eye to Ulla's eye he rear'd, Fair Ulla saw the woful shade; And burst-low bow'd her listless head, CUMNOR HALL. THE dews of summer night did fall, And many an oak that grew thereby. That issued from that lonely pile. 'Leicester (she cried), is this thy love, That thou so oft hast sworn to me, To leave me in this lonely grove, Immured in shameful privity? MICKLE. 6 No more thou comest with lover's speed, Thy once beloved bride to see; But be she alive, or be she dead, I fear (stern earl) 's the same to thee. 'Not so the usage I received, When happy in my father's hall; 'I rose up with the cheerful morn, No lark more blithe, no flower more gay; And, like the bird that haunts the thorn, So merrily sung the livelong day. "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? 'And when you to me first made suit, 'Yes, now neglected and despised, "For know, when sickening grief doth prey, What floweret can endure the storm? 'At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne, Where every lady's passing rare; That eastern flowers that shame the sun Are not so glowing, not so fair. 'Then, earl, why didst thou leave the bed Among the fields wild flowers are fair; 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 'How far less bless'd am I than them! 'Nor, cruel earl, can I enjoy The humble charms of solitude! Your minions proud my peace destroy, By sullen frowns or pratings rude. ‚' Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, The village death-bell smote my ear; They wink'd aside, and seem'd to say, Countess, prepare-thy end is near. And now, while happy peasants sleep, Here I sit lonely and forlorn: No one to soothe me as I weep, Save Philomel on yonder thorn. 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, The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, That hapless countess e'er was seen. |