The knight, he stood on the step below— “Whither, my young page, dost thou go? Who dwells within this lonely tower, Passing with speed, in sable weed— Passing with speed, at this dead hour?” “Nobody, save the raven-crow, Dwells within this lonely tower; And here, Sir knight, is your resting-bower!” “But in this tower I may not rest, Till I know who that stair has pressed; Did you not see that black weed wave?” “Yes, knight, I saw the raven’s wing, Glint up that wall with sudden spring: And hark! you now may hear him crave!” XXI. “It is not courteous, that my bower Should be within this ruin’d tower!” “But see, knight, ’tis not in decay; The storm hath blown a bar away, And the raven through the loop doth stray; His nest is wet on the battlement grey: Your chamber is a stately room, Hung round with work of choicest loom; And erst it was the resting-place Of our dear Lady Baroness, Before she went to stranger-land. My lord yet strays on foreign strand. The chamber has another stair, Leading to many chambers fair; But no step goes by night so far, Since my lord baron went to war.” XXII. The page stept on with torch before, Far as that stately chamber’s door. “Page! lift that light—fain would I know, Whither that second flight doth go?” “It goes to a battlement up on high, And to a turret perching by.” “Doth none keep watch on that turret high?” “None, but the raven with his cry! Your rest, Sir knight, he will not break; To traitors only doth he speak. They say he scents the new spilt blood.” Upon the stair the raven stood! He turn’d his dark eye on the knight, And, screaming, upward winged his flight. The wondering page looked back with fright, And met the stranger’s fiery glance; Then, hardly daring to advance, Lingered he at that chamber-door; “On,” said the knight, “with torch before!” Scarce was the page the threshhold o’er, When check he made, and pale he turn’d; Dim and more dim the torch-flame burn’d. The knight look’d on, but nothing saw, That might explain this sudden awe. XXIII.