88
FRAGMENT.
Beneath accumulated horror, sinks
The desolate mourner!
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The feudal Chief, whose Gothic battlements
Frown on the plain beneath, returning home
From distant lands, alone, and in disguise,
Gains at the fall of night his castle walls;
But, at the silent gate no porter sits
To wait his lord's admittance!—In the courts
All is drear stillness!—Guessing but too well
The fatal truth, he shudders as he goes
Thro' the mute hall; where, by the blunted light
