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.
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.
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;
Heavily swings a door back in the dreary midnight air,
And a satin slipper'd foot glides swiftly up the turret stair;
So ghostly that the shadows fail to mock it as they glide,
So back to the rents in the gable they flit away to hide,
Rather than fling a shadow on the footsteps of a bride.
So back to the rents in the gable they flit away to hide,
Rather than fling a shadow on the footsteps of a bride.
But why wanders lady Clarisse in the dark and shrouded night?
Why rests she not in slumber 'neath her curtain's rosy light?
Why flitteth she like Banshee round the battlements to-night?
Why rests she not in slumber 'neath her curtain's rosy light?
Why flitteth she like Banshee round the battlements to-night?
Lady Clarisse! Lady Clarisse! by the ring upon thy hand,
By the garland of white jessamine up-braided in the band
That encircles thy fair forehead,—O, wherefore dost thou stand
By the garland of white jessamine up-braided in the band
That encircles thy fair forehead,—O, wherefore dost thou stand
Gazing into lurid darkness, like a restless spirit sent
To chase the vagrant echoes as they answer from the rent
Where the spider only, loves to pitch her secret tent?
To chase the vagrant echoes as they answer from the rent
Where the spider only, loves to pitch her secret tent?
Why fling away the scarlet rose, tied with a golden thread;
Its beauty burned to ashes—all scentless—withered—dead,—
Like the blaze of passion quickly lighted, and as quickly fled?
Its beauty burned to ashes—all scentless—withered—dead,—
Like the blaze of passion quickly lighted, and as quickly fled?
But hark! another step is following up the turret stair—
A heavy tread, a clanking sword, which seems to say "Beware!"
I heard it on the battlement, it rent the startled air!
And now 'tis said a spectral lady walks for ever there!
A heavy tread, a clanking sword, which seems to say "Beware!"
I heard it on the battlement, it rent the startled air!
And now 'tis said a spectral lady walks for ever there!