A spacious chamber there was spread, And, for his rest, a stately bed; Fresh rushes on the floor were strewn; Faint on the arras’d walls were shown The heroes of some antient story, Now faded, like their mortal glory. Another form, as dark as doom, Stood within that chamber’s gloom, Unseen by those who entered there. His cause of dread the page thus said: “Methought I saw, within that chair, The baron’s self, my very lord; I saw it, on a true man’s word: I saw my lord return’d from far, Arrayed, as he went forth to war! He fixed his very eyes on me, But looked not, as he wont to look. Yet now no living shape I see, And know that here he could not be; For, long since, he these walls forsook: Yet is it strange such visions pale, Should o’er my waking sight prevail.” XXIV. “Whose are these antient walls, I pray?” The sullen stranger ’gan to say: “Sir, know you not these towers and halls Watch where the foaming Conway falls? Who should these walls and towers own? And the wide woods and forest round, Even to Snowdon’s utmost bound, Save the brave lord of Eglamore?” The knight explained his ignorance, He was a wanderer late from France. The page surveyed him o’er again; He thought the wily knight did feign: A deadly hue was on his cheek; His looks spoke more than words may speak. Yet to the page, though much it told, He read not all it might unfold. XXV. The knight perceived his doubting thought, And drew a badge forth from his breast; Some noble Order’s golden crest, Upon a field of silver wrought. “This badge,” he said, “with blood was bought.” He turn’d with haughty frown away. The page did not more doubt betray; But service offered to undo His casque and linked harness true; But the stranger gravely said him Nay, And refused that night to disarray. XXVI.