CANTO l.

10 ()

\nd his high shadow shot along the wall;There were the painted forms of other times,,Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes.Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults]Thnthid theirdust, their foibles, and their faults;And half a column of the pompous page,

That speeds the specious tale from age to age;Where history’s pen its praise or blame supplies.And lies like truth, and still most truly lies, igoHe wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shoneThrough the dim lattice o’er the iloor of stone.And the high fretted roof, and saints, that thereO'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer,hcllccted in fantastic figures grew,

Tike life, but not like mortal life, to view;His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom.And the vide waving of his shaken plume,Glanced like a spectre’s attributes , and gaveHis aspect all that terror gives the grave. 200

All.

Twas midnight—all was slumber ; the lone light.Himm’d in the lamp, ns loth to break the night.Hark! there be murmurs heard in Tara's hall —A sound — a voice — a shriek — a fearfull call!A long, loud shriek — and silence — did they hearThai frantic echo burst the slcepiug ear?

^hey heard and rase, and tremulously brave