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7.

Then came another mournful tale,
Syllabled by the wind's deep wail
Like words, to her awakened thought,—
How a cruel King was brought
Into an abbey to 'scape his doom;
The fiend couldn't enter the holy room,—

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The door was blessed by a fasting friar—
The hearth was red with a palm-wood fire;—
But the window was weak, and the fiend burst in,
As bursts a storm—with dreadful din!
The cruel King he breathed his last
Ere the storm was o'er, or the window fast.