style="margin-top: 2em">PART I.

"The wild winds bellow o'er my head,
  And spent eve's 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 the 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,
  Black as thy blasted pride.
How deep the angry tempest growls
  Along the mountain's side!

"Securely rests the mountain deer
  Within his hollow den,
His slumber undisturb'd by fear,
  Far from the haunts of men.

"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 in the troubled air,
And to their dens, in wild affright,
  The beasts of prey repair.

"But oh! my love! where do'st thou rest?
  What shelter covers thee?
O, may this cold and wint'ry blast
  But only beat on me!

"Some friendly dwelling may'st thou find,
  Where, undisturb'd with care,
Thou shalt not feel the chilly wind
  That ruffles Marg'ret's hair.

"Ah, no! for thou did'st give thy word
  To meet me on the way;
Nor friendly roof, nor coastly 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 stunning sound
  The dashing torrents fall;
Loud is the raging tempest round,
  And mocks a lover's call.

"Ha! see across the dreary waste
  A gentle form appears!
It is my love, my cares are past,
  How vain were all my fears?"

The form approach'd, but sad and slow,
  Nor with a lover's tread;
And from his cheek the youthful glow,
  And greeting smile was fled.

Dim sadness hung upon his brow;
  Fix'd was his beamless eye:
His face was like the moon-light bow
  Upon a win'try sky.

And fix'd and ghastly to the sight,
  His strengthen'd features rose;
And bended was his graceful height,
  And bloody were his clothes.

"O Marg'ret, calm thy troubled breast!
  Thy sorrow now is vain:
Thy Edward from his peaceful rest
  Shall ne'er return again.

"A treach'rous friend has brought me low,
  And fix'd my early doom;
And laid my corpse, with feigned woe,
  Beneath a vaulted 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 water'd with his tears;
He has but thee to sooth his care,
  And prop his load of years.

"Remember Edward when he's gone,
  He only liv'd for thee;
And when thou'rt pensive, and alone,
  O Marg'ret call on me!

"Yet deep beneath the mould'ring 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,
  Tho' 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 wat'ry ghost,
  And dimly wore away.

No longer Marg'ret felt the storm,
  She bow'd her lovely head;
And with her lover's fleeting form,
  Her gentle spirit fled.

PART II.

Loud roars the wind that shakes this wall;
  It is no common blast:
Deep hollow sounds pass thro' my hall,
  O would the night were past!

"Methinks the dæmons of the air
  Upon the turrets growl;
While down the empty winding stair
  Their deep'ning murmurs roll.

"The glimm'ring fire cheers not the gloom:
  How blue its weakly ray!
And like a taper in a tomb,
  But spreads the more dismay.

"Athwart its melancholy light
  The lengthen'd shadow falls:
My grandsires, to my troubled sight,
  Low'r on me from these walls.

"Methinks yon angry warrior's head
  Doth in its casement frown,
And darts 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.

"The weary hind is now at rest,
  Tho' lowly is his head,
How sweetly lies the guiltless breast,
  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 dar'd whate'er the boldest can,
  Then why this childish dread;
I never fear'd a living man,
  And shall I fear the dead!

"No, whistling storms 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 my dusky hall!
Art thou a friend? art thou a foe?
  O, answer to my call!"

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