LADY CLARISSE.(A LEGEND.)
N the ivy turret the clock has struck the midnight hour;The owl with startled wing shrieks back to her leafy bower—Tu-whit, tu-whoo—the dismal wail from the old bell tower.The raven croaks her discontent, the owlet hoots her dole,While the fitful moon her arrows flings aslant the grey loop-hole;Or some wandering star to-night has sought love's secret to unroll.
But list to a light step falling on the windy turret stair;Heavily swings a door back in the dreary midnight air,And a satin slipper'd foot glides swiftly up the turret stair;
