Still nearer to the glimm'ring light
The tow'ring figure strode,
Till full, and horrid to the sight,
The murther'd Edward stood.

His hand a broken dagger sway'd,
Like Time's dark threat'ning dart;
And pointed to the rugged blade
That quiver'd in his heart.

The blood still trickled from his head,
And clotted was his hair,
That on his manly shoulders spread;
His mangled breast was bare.

His face was like the muddy sky
Before the coming snow;
And dark and dreadful was his eye,
And cloudy was his brow.

Pale Conrad shrunk, but grasp'd his sword;
Fear thrill'd in ev'ry vein;
His quiv'ring lip half-spoke its word;
He paus'd, and shrunk again.

"Pale bloody spectre, at this hour
Why do'st thou haunt the night?
Has the deep gloomy vault no power
To keep thee from my sight?