NIGHT
SCENES
OF
OTHER
TIMES
.
A
Poem
,
in
Three
Parts
.
PART
I.
"
THE
night
winds
bellow
o'er
my
head
Dim
grows
the
fading
light
;
Where
shall
I
find
some
friendly
shed
To
screen
me
from
the
night
?
"
Ah
!
round
me
lies
a
desert
vast
,
No
habitation
near
;
And
dark
and
pathless
is
the
waste
And
fills
my
mind
with
fear
.
"
Thou
distant
tree
,
whose
lonely
top
Has
bent
to
many
a
storm
,
No
more
canst
thou
deceive
my
hope
And
take
my
lover's
form
;
"
For
o'er
thy
head
the
dark
cloud
rolls
,
Dark
as
thy
blasted
pride
;
How
deep
the
angry
tempest
growls
Along
the
mountain's
side
.
"
Safely
within
the
shaggy
brake
Are
couched
the
mountain
deer
;
A
sound
unbroken
sleep
they
take
;
No
haunts
of
men
are
near
.
"
Beneath
the
fern
the
moorcock
sleeps
,
And
twisted
adders
lie
;
Back
to
his
rock
the
night-bird
creeps
,
Nor
gives
his
wonted
cry
.
"
For
angry
spirits
of
the
night
Ride
on
the
troubled
air
,
And
to
their
dens
,
in
strange
affright
,
The
beasts
of
prey
repair
.
"
But
thou
,
my
love
!
where
dost
thou
rest
?
What
shelter
covers
thee
?
O
may
this
cold
and
wintry
blast
But
only
beat
on
me
!
"
Some
friendly
dwelling
mayst
thou
find
,
Where
sleep
may
banish
care
And
thou
feel
not
the
chilly
wind
That
scatters
Margaret's
hair
.
"
Ah
no
!
for
thou
didst
give
thy
word
To
meet
me
on
the
way
:
Nor
friendly
roof
nor
social
board
Will
tempt
a
lover's
stay
.
"
O
raise
thy
voice
if
thou
art
near
!
Its
weakest
sound
were
bliss
;
What
other
sound
my
heart
can
cheer
In
such
a
gloom
as
this
?
"
But
from
the
hills
with
deafening
roar
The
dashing
torrents
fall
,
And
heavy
beats
the
drifted
shower
,
And
mock
a
lover's
call
.
"
Ha
!
see
,
across
the
dreary
waste
,
A
moving
form
appears
,
It
is
my
love
,
my
cares
are
past
;
How
vain
were
all
my
fears
!
"
The
form
advanced
,
but
sad
and
slow
,
Not
with
a
lover's
tread
;
And
from
his
cheek
the
youthful
glow
And
greeting
smile
were
fled
.
Dim
sadness
sat
upon
his
brow
;
Fixed
was
his
beamless
eye
;
His
face
was
like
a
moon-light
bow
Upon
a
wintry
sky
.
And
fixed
and
ghastly
to
the
sight
His
strengthened
features
rose
,
And
bended
was
his
graceful
height
,
And
bloody
were
his
clothes
.
"
My
Margaret
,
calm
thy
troubled
breast
;
Thy
sorrow
now
is
vain
;
Thy
Edward
from
his
peaceful
rest
Shall
ne'er
return
again
.
"
A
treacherous
friend
has
laid
me
low
,
Has
fixed
my
early
doom
,
And
laid
my
corse
with
feigned
woe
Beneath
a
vaunted
tomb
.
"
To
take
thee
to
my
home
I
sware
,
And
here
we
were
to
meet
;
Wilt
thou
a
narrow
coffin
share
,
And
part
my
winding
sheet
?
"
But
late
the
lord
of
many
lands
,
And
now
a
grave
is
all
:
My
blood
is
warm
upon
his
hands
Who
revels
in
my
hall
.
"
Yet
think
,
thy
father's
hoary
hair
Is
watered
with
his
tears
;
He
has
but
thee
to
soothe
his
care
,
And
prop
his
load
of
years
.
"
Remember
Edward
when
he's
gone
He
only
lived
for
thee
;
And
when
thou
art
pensive
and
alone
Dear
Margaret
,
call
on
me
!
"
Though
deep
beneath
the
mouldering
clod
I
rest
my
wounded
head
,
And
terrible
that
call
and
loud
Which
shall
awake
the
dead
!
"
"
No
,
Edward
;
I
will
follow
thee
,
And
share
thy
hapless
doom
;
Companions
shall
our
spirits
be
,
Though
distant
is
thy
tomb
.
"
O
!
never
to
my
father's
tower
Will
I
return
again
;
A
bleeding
heart
has
little
power
To
ease
another's
pain
.
"
Upon
the
wing
my
spirit
flies
,
I
feel
my
course
is
run
;
Nor
shall
these
dim
and
weary
eyes
Behold
to-morrow's
sun
.
"
Like
early
dew
,
or
hoary
frost
Spent
with
the
beaming
day
,
So
shrunk
the
pale
and
watery
ghost
,
And
dimly
wore
away
.
No
longer
Margaret
felt
the
storm
,
She
bowed
her
lovely
head
,
And
,
with
her
lover's
fleeting
form
,
Her
gentle
spirit
fled
.
PART
II
.
"
LOUD
roars
the
wind
that
shakes
the
wall
,
It
is
no
common
blast
;
Deep
hollow
sounds
pass
through
my
hall
:
O
would
the
night
were
past
!
"
Methinks
the
demons
of
the
air
Upon
the
turrets
growl
,
While
down
the
empty
winding
stair
Their
deepening
murmurs
roll
.
"
The
glimmering
fire
cheers
not
the
gloom
,
Blue
burns
the
quivering
ray
,
And
,
like
a
taper
in
a
tomb
,
But
spreads
the
more
dismay
.
"
Athwart
its
melancholy
light
The
lengthened
shadow
falls
;
My
grandsires
to
my
troubled
sight
Lower
on
me
from
these
walls
.
"
Methinks
yon
angry
warrior's
head
Doth
in
its
panel
frown
,
And
dart
a
look
,
as
if
it
said
,
'
Where
hast
thou
laid
my
son
?
'
"
But
will
these
fancies
never
cease
?
O
would
the
night
were
run
!
My
troubled
soul
can
find
no
peace
But
with
the
morning
sun
,
"
Vain
hope
!
the
guilty
never
rest
;
Dismay
is
always
near
;
There
is
a
midnight
in
the
breast
No
morn
shall
ever
cheer
.
"
Now
soundly
sleeps
the
weary
hind
,
Though
lowly
lies
his
head
;
An
easy
lair
the
guiltless
find
Upon
the
hardest
bed
.
"
The
beggar
,
in
his
wretched
haunt
,
May
now
a
monarch
be
;
Forget
his
woe
,
forget
his
want
,
For
all
can
sleep
but
me
.
"
I've
dared
whate'er
the
boldest
can
,
Then
why
this
childish
dread
?
I
never
feared
a
living
man
,
And
shall
I
fear
the
dead
?
"
No
;
whistling
blasts
may
shake
my
tower
,
And
passing
spirits
scream
:
Their
shadowy
arms
are
void
of
power
,
And
but
a
gloomy
dream
.
"
But
,
lo
!
a
form
advancing
slow
Across
the
dusky
hall
,
Art
thou
a
friend
?
—
art
thou
a
foe
?
O
answer
to
my
call
!
"
Still
nearer
to
the
glimmering
light
The
stately
figure
strode
,
Till
full
,
and
horrid
to
the
sight
,
The
murthered
Edward
stood
.
A
broken
shaft
his
right
hand
swayed
,
Like
Time's
dark
,
threatening
dart
,
And
pointed
to
a
rugged
blade
That
quivered
in
his
heart
.
The
blood
still
trickled
from
his
head
,
And
clotted
was
his
hair
;
His
severed
vesture
stained
and
red
;
His
mangled
breast
was
bare
.
His
face
was
like
a
muddy
sky
Before
the
coming
snow
;
And
dark
and
dreadful
was
his
eye
,
And
cloudy
was
his
brow
.
Pale
Conrad
shrunk
,
but
drew
his
sword
—
Fear
thrilled
in
every
vein
;
His
quivering
lips
gave
out
no
word
;
He
paused
,
and
shrunk
again
.
Then
utterance
came
—
"
At
this
dread
hour
Why
dost
thou
haunt
the
night
?
Has
the
deep
gloomy
vault
no
power
To
keep
thee
from
my
sight
?
"
Why
dost
thou
glare
and
slowly
wave
That
fatal
shaft
of
strife
?
The
deed
is
done
,
and
from
the
grave
Who
can
recall
to
life
?
"
Why
roll
thine
eyes
beneath
thy
brow
Dark
as
the
midnight
storm
?
What
dost
thou
want
?
O
let
me
know
,
But
hide
thy
dreadful
form
.
"
I'd
give
the
life-blood
from
my
heart
To
wash
my
crime
away
:
If
thou
a
spirit
art
,
depart
,
Nor
haunt
a
wretch
of
clay
!
"
Say
,
dost
thou
with
the
blessed
dwell
?
—
Return
and
blessed
be
!
Or
comest
thou
from
the
lowest
hell
?
—
I
am
more
cursed
than
thee
.
"
The
form
advanced
with
solemn
steps
As
if
it
meant
to
speak
,
And
seemed
to
move
its
pallid
lips
,
But
silence
did
not
break
.
Then
sternly
stalked
with
heavy
pace
Which
shook
the
floor
and
wall
,
And
turned
away
its
fearful
face
,
And
vanished
from
the
hall
.
Transfixed
and
powerless
,
Conrad
stood
;
Ears
ring
,
and
eyeballs
swell
;
Back
to
his
heart
runs
the
cold
blood
;
Into
a
trance
he
fell
.
Night
fled
,
and
through
the
windows
'gan
The
early
light
to
play
;
But
on
a
more
unhappy
man
Ne'er
shone
the
dawning
day
.
The
gladsome
sun
all
nature
cheers
,
But
cannot
charm
his
cares
;
Still
dwells
his
mind
with
gloomy
fears
,
And
murdered
Edward
glares
.
PART
III
.
"
No
rest
nor
comfort
can
I
find
:
I
watch
the
midnight
hour
;
I
sit
and
listen
to
the
wind
That
beats
upon
my
tower
.
"
Methinks
low
voices
from
the
ground
Break
mournful
on
my
ear
,
And
through
these
empty
chambers
sound
So
dismal
and
so
drear
!
"
The
ghost
of
some
departed
friend
Doth
in
my
sorrows
share
;
Or
is
it
but
the
rushing
wind
That
mocketh
my
despair
?
"
Sad
through
the
hall
the
pale
lamp
gleams
Upon
my
father's
arms
;
My
soul
is
filled
with
gloomy
dreams
,
I
fear
unknown
alarms
.
"
O
,
I
have
known
this
lonely
place
With
every
blessing
stored
,
And
many
a
friend
with
cheerful
face
Sit
smiling
at
my
board
!
"
While
round
the
hearth
,
in
early
bloom
,
My
harmless
children
played
,
Who
now
within
the
narrow
tomb
Are
with
their
mother
laid
.
"
Now
sadly
bends
my
wretched
head
,
And
those
I
loved
are
gone
:
My
friends
,
my
family
,
all
are
fled
,
And
I
am
left
alone
.
"
Oft
as
the
cheerless
fire
declines
,
In
it
I
sadly
trace
,
As
lone
I
sit
,
the
half-formed
lines
Of
many
a
much-loved
face
.
"
But
chiefly
,
Margaret
,
to
my
mind
,
Thy
lovely
features
rise
;
I
strive
to
think
thee
less
unkind
,
And
wipe
my
streaming
eyes
.
"
For
only
thee
I
had
to
vaunt
,
Thou
wert
thy
mother's
pride
;
She
left
thee
like
a
shooting
plant
,
To
screen
my
widowed
side
.
"
But
thou
forsakest
me
,
weak
,
forlorn
,
And
chilled
with
age's
frost
,
To
count
my
weary
days
and
mourn
The
comforts
I
have
lost
.
"
Unkindly
child
!
why
didst
thou
go
?
O
,
had
I
known
the
truth
!
Though
Edward's
father
was
my
foe
,
I
would
have
blessed
the
youth
.
"
Could
I
but
see
that
face
again
,
Whose
smile
calmed
every
strife
,
And
hear
that
voice
which
soothed
my
pain
,
And
made
me
wish
for
life
!
"
Thy
harp
hangs
silent
by
the
wall
:
My
nights
are
sad
and
long
,
And
thou
art
in
a
distant
hall
,
Where
strangers
raise
the
song
.
"
Ha
!
some
delusion
of
the
mind
My
senses
doth
confound
!
It
is
the
harp
,
and
not
the
wind
,
That
did
so
sweetly
sound
.
"
Old
Arno
rose
all
wan
as
death
,
And
turned
his
eager
ear
,
And
checked
the
while
his
quickened
breath
The
sound
again
to
hear
.
When
like
a
full
,
but
distant
choir
,
The
swelling
notes
returned
;
And
with
the
softly
trembling
wire
Surrounding
echoes
mourned
;
Then
softly
whispered
o'er
the
song
That
Margaret
loved
to
play
,
Its
well-known
measure
lingered
long
,
And
faintly
died
away
.
His
dim-worn
eyes
to
heaven
he
cast
,
Where
all
his
griefs
were
known
,
And
smote
upon
his
troubled
breast
,
And
heaved
a
heavy
groan
.
"
I
know
it
is
my
daughter's
hand
,
But
'tis
no
hand
of
clay
;
And
here
a
lonely
wretch
I
stand
,
All
childless
,
bent
,
and
grey
.
"
And
art
thou
low
,
my
lovely
child
,
And
hast
thou
met
thy
doom
,
And
has
thy
flattering
morning
smiled
,
To
lead
but
to
the
tomb
?
"
O
let
me
see
thee
ere
we
part
,
For
souls
like
thine
are
blest
;
O
let
me
fold
thee
to
my
heart
,
If
aught
of
form
thou
hast
!
"
This
passing
mist
conceals
thy
shape
,
But
it
is
shrunk
or
flown
;
Why
dost
thou
from
mine
arms
escape
,
Art
thou
not
still
mine
own
?
"
Thou'rt
fled
like
the
low
evening
breath
,
That
sighs
upon
the
hill
:
O
stay
!
though
in
thy
weeds
of
death
,
—
Thou
art
my
daughter
still
.
"
Loud
waked
the
sound
,
then
fainter
grew
,
And
long
and
sadly
mourned
,
And
softly
sighed
a
long
adieu
,
And
never
more
returned
.
Old
Arno
stretched
him
on
the
ground
;
Thick
as
the
gloom
of
night
,
Death's
misty
shadows
gathered
round
,
And
swam
before
his
sight
.
He
heaved
a
deep
and
deadly
groan
,
That
rent
his
labouring
breast
,
And
long
before
the
morning
shone
,
His
spirit
was
at
rest
.