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· How far less blest am I than them,
Daily to pine and waste with care ! Like the poor plant that, from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air.
“Nor, cruel Earl, can I enjoy
The humble charms of solitude ; Your minions proud my peace destroy,
By sullen frowns or prating 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
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 appear'd
In Camnor 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 flapp'd his wing
Around the towers of ('umnor Hall:
The mastiff howl’d at ritage divor;
The oaks were shatter'd on the green : Woe was the hour,--for never more
That hapless Countess e'er was seen'
And in that malor now no more
Is cheerful feast and sprightly bull; For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits hauntel C'umnor Hall!
The village-maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-crown wall, Nor ever lead the merry dance
Among the groves of C'umnor Hall.
Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd,
And pensive wept the countess fall, As, wand'ring onwards, he has spied
The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.