In yonder vault, deep down below,
Half choked with hoary eglantine,
Sleep side by side in lengthened row
The proud Roseallan's noble line.
The hairy wing-mouse flutters there,
The owl mopes as in days of yore,
Strange eldritch sounds salute the ear,
Unholy things crawl on the floor.

How oft alone at midnight hour
I stand within that silent tomb,
What time the moon with waning power
Is struggling through increasing gloom,
On one sole bier _his_ tears would fall,
For _her_ his groans come evermore,
Whose silver voice once filled the hall,
Whose feet once lightly tript the floor.




XIX.

THE BALLAD OF THE TOURNAY.


In the castle of Kildrennie,
Up in her chamber high,
There sat the fair Burde Annie,
And with her County Guy--