'Then, Leicester, why, again I plead (The injured surely may repine)— Why didst thou wed a country maid, When some fair princess might be thine? 'Why didst thou praise my hum'ble charms, And, oh! then leave them to decay? Why didst thou win me to thy arms, Then leave to mourn the livelong day? 'The village maidens of the plain Salute me lowly as they go; Envious they mark my silken train, Nor think a Countess can have woe. 'The simple nymphs! they little know How far more happy's their estate; To smile for joy, than sigh for woe— To be content, than to be great. 'How far less blest am I than them? Daily to pine and waste with care! Like the poor plant that, from its stem Divided, feels the chilling air. 'Nor, cruel Earl! can I enjoy The humble charms of solitude; Your minions proud my peace destroy, By sullen frowns or pratings rude. 'Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, The village death-bell smote my ear; They wink'd aside, and seemed to say, 'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!' 'And now, while happy peasants sleep, Here I sit lonely and forlorn; No one to soothe me as I weep, Save Philomel on yonder thorn. 'My spirits flag—my hopes decay— Still that dread death-bell smites my ear; And many a boding seems to say, 'Countess, prepare, thy end is near!'' Thus sore and sad that lady grieved, In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appear'd, In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, Full many a piercing scream was heard, And many a cry of mortal fear. The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, An aerial voice was heard to call, And thrice the raven flapp'd its wing Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. The mastiff howl'd at village door, The oaks were shatter'd on the green; Woe was the hour—for never more That hapless Countess e'er was seen! And in that Manor now no more Is cheerful feast and sprightly ball; For ever since that dreary hour Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance, Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall; Nor ever lead the merry dance, Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. Full many a traveller oft hath sigh'd, And pensive wept the Countess' fall, As wand'ring onward they've espied The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. ARBOTSFORD, 1st March 1831.
