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Heard ye not the boding sound,

As the tongue of yonder tower, Slowly, to the hills around,

Told the fourth, the fated hour ?

Starts the steed, and snuffs the air,

Yet no cause of dread appears ; Bristles high the rider's hair,

Struck with strange mysterious fears.

Desperate, as his terrors rise,
In the steed the

spur

he hides ; From himself in vain he flies;

Anxious, restless, on he rides.

Seven long days, and seven long nights,

Wild he wander'd, woe the while ! Ceaseless care, and causeless fright,

Urge his footsteps many a mile.

Dark the seventh sad night descends;

Rivers swell, and rain-streams pour; While the deafening thunder lends

All the terrors of its roar.

Weary, wet, and spent with toil,

Where his head shall Frederick hide? Where, but in yon ruin'd aisle,

By the lightning's flash descried.

To the portal, dank and low,

Fast his steed the wanderer bound; Down a ruin'd staircase slow,

Next his darkling way he wound.

Long drear vaults before him lie!

Glimmering lights are seen to glide ! “ Blessed Mary, hear my cry!

Deign a sinner's steps to guide !"

Often lost their quivering beam,

Still the lights move slow before, Till they rest their ghastly gleam

Right against an iron door.

Thundering voices from within,

Mix'd with peals of laughter, rose; As they fell, a solemn strain

Lent its wild and wondrous close !

Midst the din, he seem'd to hear

Voice of friends, by death removed ; Well he knew that solemn air, 'Twas the lay that Alice loved.

Hark! for now a solemn knell

Four times on the still night broke ; Four times, at its deaden'd swell,

Echoes from the ruins spoke.

As the lengthen'd clangors die,

Slowly opes the iron door; Straight a banquet met his eye,

But a funeral's form it wore !

Coffins for the seats extend ;

All with black the board was spiead ; Girt by parent, brother, friend,

Long since number'd with the dead !

Alice, in her grave-clothes bound,
• Ghastly smiling, points a seat;
All arose, with thundering sound ;

All the expected stranger greet.

High their meagre arms they wave,

Wild their notes of welcome swell ;-
Welcome, traitor, to the grave !
Perjured, bid the light farewell !”.

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SONGS.

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