Soon as that lady’s face he saw, All other dread his heart forsook; He gazed with fixt and frenzied awe, And vainly tried away to look: For to his fearful sight it seemed, As though her eyes on his were bent; And, where the pale flame wavering gleamed, As if her varying cheek were blent With lights and shades of death; While round her lips a grim smile drew, And the rose paled that on them blew; And, with faint lingering breath, “Prepare,” she said, “thy hour is nigh! Unpitying, thou hast seen me die; Unpitied be thy mortal sigh!” XXX. He heard the words—the words alone; He heard not that deep solemn groan; He heard not the clang of the ‘larum bell, Nor from the gates that horn-blast swell; Nor heard the many-trampling hoofs, Nor voices calling in the gale, And ringing round the castle roofs, Till they made the ’battled raven quail; Nor heard the funeral shriek, that broke Through every hall and lofty tower; He heard alone the words she spoke. XXXI. Nor saw he in the court below, By the torches’ umbered glow, Borne upon his bleeding bier, With wounds unclosed and open eyes, A warrior stretched in death draw near; Nor heard the loud and louder cries, This piteous sight of horror drew From every friend and vassal true. But he knew that voice at his chamber-door, And straight the witch-veil of glamour Falls, and his wonder-trance is o’er. He hears his summons in that sound; It is the bark of the true blood-hound. True to his murdered lord is he; He has traced the steps he could not see— Traced them o’er darkened miles and miles, O’er glen and mountain, wood and moor, Through all their swift and winding wiles, Till he stopped before his master’s door, And bayed the murderer in his bower. XXXII.