The Bell Struck One, And Shook The Silent Tower; The Graves Give Up Their Dead: Fair Elenor Walk'D By The Castle Gate, And Look'D In. A Hollow Groan Ran Thro' The Dreary Vaults. She Shriek'D Aloud, And Sunk Upon The Steps, On The Cold Stone Her Pale Cheeks. Sickly Smells Of Death Issue As From A Sepulchre, And All Is Silent But The Sighing Vaults. Chill Death Withdraws His Hand, And She Revives; Amaz'D, She Finds Herself Upon Her Feet, And, Like A Ghost, Thro' Narrow Passages Walking, Feeling The Cold Walls With Her Hands. Fancy Returns, And Now She Thinks Of Bones And Grinning Skulls, And Corruptible Death Wrapp'D In His Shroud; And Now Fancies She Hears Deep Sighs, And Sees Pale Sickly Ghosts Gliding. At Length, No Fancy But Reality Distracts Her. A Rushing Sound, And The Feet Of One That Fled, Approaches, Ellen Stood Like A Dumb Statue, Froze To Stone With Fear. The Wretch Approaches, Crying: `The Deed Is Done; Take This, And Send It By Whom Thou Wilt Send; It Is My Life, Send It To Elenor: He's Dead, And Howling After Me For Blood! `Take This,' He Cried; And Thrust Into Her Arms A Wet Napkin, Wrapp'D About; Then Rush'D Past, Howling: She Receiv'D Into Her Arms Pale Death, And Follow'D On The Wings Of Fear. They Pass'D Swift Thro' The Outer Gate; The Wretch, Howling, Leap'D O'Er The Wall Into The Moat, Stifling In Mud. Fair Ellen Pass'D The Bridge, And Heard A Gloomy Voice Cry `Is It Done?' As The Deer Wounded, Ellen Flew Over The Pathless Plain; As The Arrows That Fly By Night, Destruction Flies, And Strikes In Darkness. She Fled From Fear, Till At Her House Arriv'D. Her Maids Await Her; On Her Bed She Falls, That Bed Of Joy, Where Erst Her Lord Hath Press'D: `Ah, Woman'S Fear!' She Cried; `Ah, Curs'D Duke! Ah, My Dear Lord! Ah, Wretched Elenor! `My Lord Was Like A Flower Upon The Brows Of Lusty May! Ah, Life As Frail As Flower! O Ghastly Death! Withdraw Thy Cruel Hand, Seek'St Thou That Flow'R To Deck Thy Horrid Temples? `My Lord Was Like A Star In Highest Heav'N Drawn Down To Earth By Spells And Wickedness; My Lord Was Like The Opening Eyes Of Day When Western Winds Creep Softly O'Er The Flowers; `But He Is Darken'D; Like The Summer'S Noon Clouded; Fall'N Like The Stately Tree, Cut Down; The Breath Of Heaven Dwelt Among His Leaves. O Elenor, Weak Woman, Fill'D With Woe!' Thus Having Spoke, She Rais'D Up Her Head, And Saw The Bloody Napkin By Her Side, Which In Her Arms She Brought; And Now, Tenfold More TerrifI'd, Saw It Unfold Itself. Her Eyes Were Fix'D; The Bloody Cloth Unfolds, Disclosing To Her Sight The Murder'D Head Of Her Dear Lord, All Ghastly Pale, Clotted With Gory Blood; It Groan'D, And Thus It Spake: `O Elenor, I Am Thy Husband'S Head, Who, Sleeping On The Stones Of Yonder Tower, Was 'reft Of Life By The Accurs'D Duke! A Hir'D Villain Turn'D My Sleep To Death! `O Elenor, Beware The Curs'D Duke; O Give Not Him Thy Hand, Now I Am Dead; He Seeks Thy Love; Who, Coward, In The Night, Hir'D A Villain To Bereave My Life.' She Sat With Dead Cold Limbs, Stiffen'D To Stone; She Took The Gory Head Up In Her Arms; She Kiss'D The Pale Lips; She Had No Tears To Shed; She Hugg'D It To Her Breast, And Groan'D Her Last.