Art and Fashion :: :: University of Virginia Library

The wintry winds blow wild and shrill,
Like ghosts they shriek across the moor,
Or howl beneath the window sill,
Or shake with gusty hands the door;
And, hour by hour, from some lone bell
A wizard sound at night doth steal—
Sometimes 'tis like a funeral knell,
Sometimes 'tis like a marriage peal!
I know it is some fiend that stands
Within the belfry's ghastly gloom,
And with its stark and fleshless hands
Rings out dead souls from tomb to tomb.

I long to weep—I pray to sleep,
But through the haunted house it sounds,
And through my flesh the chill veins creep
Like wintry worms in burial-grounds.

A weight is on my heart—my brain,
A shadow flits across the floor;
And then I know it is in vain
To pine, or pray, or struggle more!
Well, let the foul fiend ring till morn—
Till the red sun awakens men:
Yet, though thus tortured and forlorn,
What then I did—I'd do again!

He thought it fine to feign a love
Which woo'd my spirit to his feet;
He raised his false, false eyes above,
And vow'd, what's useless to repeat.
Whate'er he vow'd, there is no name
So black on earth as his deceit;
Whate'er he vow'd, there is no shame
So vile as in his heart did beat!
Ring out, thou bitter fiend, till morn
Awakes the prying eyes of men;
Yet prison'd, madden'd, and forlorn,
What then I did—I'd do again!

Not slightly was I woo'd or won;
For years the whisp'ring false one came,
And nought a saint might fear to shun
Forewarn'd me of the villain's aim.

I loved him—loved? I would have died,
If dying ought to him might spare;
I would have every pain defied
To save him from a single care!
Toll, toll, thou fiend, ring out, and tell
The murd'rous deed from goal to goal!
I know my name is writ in hell—
I feel there's blood upon my soul!

The dawn arose, but not for me
The bridal train did wait and smile;
As slowly, stately, three by three,
They swept in beauty down the aisle.
I crept behind the pillar'd base;
The bride's white garments fann'd my cheek;
The blood rush'd madly to my face;
I dared not breathe—I could not speak!
Laugh out, thou fiend, laugh out and scorn,
With mocking sounds, my weary ear!
Is there no other—lost—forlorn,
No other wretch whose life's a tear?

There rose a whisper deep and low—
A sound that took away my sight;
All things around me seem'd to flow,
And wander in a demon light!

I nerved my hand to grasp the steel;
I stepp'd between him and his bride.
Who'd think so black a heart could feel?—
Could pour so warm, so red a tide?
Is there no sinful soul but mine,
Thou endless fiend, that thou must make
These serpent sounds to hiss and twine
Around me till my senses ache!

I had not stabb'd him, but I saw
My noble father's thin gray hairs;
And that, perchance, which tears might draw,
Drew blood upon me unawares.
I flung the shrieking bride apart;
I sprang before him in his guilt;
The steel went quivering to his heart—
Would God my own blood had been spilt!
Laugh out, dark fiend! beside me then
A wilder sound than thine was spread;
A cry I ne'er shall hear again
Till every grave gives up its dead!

Twelve months—dark months—I groan'd in pain
A curse lay heavy on my head.
They tell me I have ne'er been sane
Since that wild hour the bridegroom bled!

They say no shadow stalks the room—
No midnight tolling haunts the air.
'Tis false! You hear it through the gloom;
And, see, the phantom passes—there!
Mad—mad? 'Twere blissful but to lose
One hour from self—one moment free
From thoughts that every hope refuse—
From life whose lot is misery!

Mad—mad? As if the sense could leave
The form it tortured! Never more
Shall I do aught but rave and grieve,
And wish—vain wish—this life were o'er!
Away!—a thousand lives have gone,
A thousand phantoms glide in hell;
But not one perish'd—no, not one
So black in guilt as he who fell!
Night after night, 'mid sounds aghast,
That fiend, that spectre, haunts my way.
What shall I see when life hath past,
And Night is mine that knows no day?