The night-cheer o’er, the page led on The stranger to his resting-place. He led the way, that form had gone: On the high stair he stood a space, Waiting the knight’s reluctant pace, Then, with mute reverence, marshalled him Through many a gallery, long and dim, Where helmets watched, in order grim; Through many a chamber, wide and lorn, Where wint’ry damps had half withdrawn The storied paintings on the wall. Electra, o’er her brother’s urn, There bent the head, and seemed to mourn; There, too, as meet in room and hall, Troy’s tale[2] and Hector’s piteous fall: Here Priam’s Court, in purple and pall, Its golden splendour now had lost; But Helen, on the rampart stood, And pointed to the Grecian host, Out-stretching to the briny flood. Here Hector’s wife sat in her bower, Waiting her lord’s returning hour; And ‘broidering ’midst her maiden train, While her infant played with silken skein. There—but it boots not that I say, What stories once, in long array, Lived on those walls, now ghastly clay. Footnote 2: The “Tale of Troy” appears to have been a very favourite subject in ancient tapestry. It occurs often in old castles, and is mentioned twice in this “Trew Chronique,” as adorning the walls of stately chambers. XIX. The knight would oft, as he strode by, Cast on their shade a searching eye; And pause, as list’ning some drear sound, That rose within the glimmering bound: And start, as though some fearful sight Passed along this gloom of night; But, at a lesser winding stair, (The long drawn chambers ended there,) When to that narrow stair he drew, He thought a robe of mourning hue Went fleeting up that winding way; No glimpse had he of shape or ray; No foot he heard the stair ascend. Yet still that seeming garment passed, As though some fiend, with evil haste, Did up that lonely tower wend. XX.