THE HAUNTED CHAPEL.
N a dim old chesnut forest, Far from the city's din,Stands a long-deserted chapel— So does my lay begin.The walls with age are crumbling, With moss and lichen wedTo mouldy crust between the chinks— All else save this is dead.
A hundred years and more have past, Since censers here have swung,Or chant or benison has been said, Or Vesper bell been rung.
A hundred years since the vigil lamp Before the Virgin gleamed,Illuming the ancient picture, Now mildewed, stained, and seamed.
