"I will speak to thee—yes! I will make thee stay."
Straight at her word she is gone, and behold!
Thro' the darkness she threads her devious way;
Now her foot strikes a stone—now her dress catches hold.
"Spirits have subtler senses, but still
Escape me you shall not—fly as you will."
By my faith and my truth, the lady is bold.
"Ha! bolted and barred—she has entered here!
What hopes she to find in the record's store?"
First the lady her eye,and then her ear,
Shuddering, applies to the chink of the door:
What hears she within? a sound, like the creak
Of a parchment-roll—what sees she? a streak
Like the will-o'-the-wisp flickering over the floor!
She beats her throbbing bosom down,
She holds her breath—and crouches low.
What look is that which rivets her own?
Whence comes that light with its lurid glow?
And arm against arm—one step between—
On either side of the fissure lean
The Maid and her Image, brow to brow.
She back recoils—the form retreats—
She nearer steps—the figure also—
There they stand face to face—eye—eyeball meets:
They bore each other as Vampires do:
The self-same cap is over her brow,
The self-same night-dress, as white as snow,
Around them in like disorder flow.
Slowly they bend o'er the panel's breach;
And slowly, as from a mirror, one
In lineaments, they each to each
Stretch their right hands ringed with the self-same stone.
Lo! wavers the form—now here, now there;
See! 'tis parted now by a gust of air—
Look! it fades away—like a mist, is flown.
And when in the waltz youths and maids are joined,
You may see a damsel, lovely and wild;
For many a year she has sickened and pined
One hand is ungloved, and I have been told
An icicle's glimmer is not more cold;
But she merrily, inerrily laughs, and is styled
The crazy Maiden of Rodenchild.
