But suddenly the tumult ceas’d— And silence, still more fearful, Around the little chamber spread Such horrors as attend the dead, Where no Sun glitters chearful! “Now JESU HEAR ME!” GOLFRE cried, “HEAR ME,” a faint voice mutter’d! The BARON drew his poniard forth— The Maiden sunk upon the earth, And—“Save me Heav’n!” she utter’d. “Yes, Heav’n will save thee,” GOLFRE said, “Save thee, to be MY bride!” But while he spoke a beam of light Shone on her bosom, deathly white, Then onward seem’d to glide. And now the Goatherd, on his knees, With frantic accent cried, “O! God forbid! that _I_ should see “The beauteous ZORIETTO, be “The BARON GOLFRE’s bride! “Poor Lady! she did shrink and fall, “As leaves fall in September! “Then be not BARON GOLFRE’s bride— “Alack! in yon black tow’r SHE died— “Full well, I do remember!” “Oft, to the lattice grate I stole “To hear her, sweetly singing; “And oft, whole nights, beside the moat, “I listen’d to the dying note— “’Till matin’s bell was ringing. “And when she died! Poor Lady dear! “A sack of gold, she gave, “That masses every Christmas day “Twelve bare-foot Monks should sing, or say, “Slow moving round her Grave. “That, at the Holy Virgin’s shrine “Three Lamps should burn for ever— “That, ev’ry month, the bell should toll, “For pray’rs to save her Husband’s soul— “I shall forget it, never!” While thus he spoke, the BARON’s eye Look’d inward on his soul: For He the masses _ne’er_ had said— _No_ lamps, their quiv’ring light had shed, _No_ bell, been taught to toll! And yet, the bell _did_ toll, self-mov’d; And sickly lamps were gleaming; And oft, their faintly wand’ring light Illum’d the Chapel aisles at night, ’Till MORN’s broad eye, was beaming. _GOLFRE_, _PART FOURTH._ The Maid refus’d the BARON’s suit, For, well she lov’d another; The angry GOLFRE’s vengeful rage Nor pride nor reason could assuage, Nor pity prompt to smother.