Tempest or calm――moonshine or shower, The castle clock still tolls the hour, And the cock awakens, and echoes the sound, And is answered by the owls around―― And at every measured tone You may hear the old baron grunt and groan; ’Tis a thing of wonder, and fright, and fear, The mastiff-bitch’s moans to hear―― And the aged cow in her stall that stands And is milked each morning by female hands (That the baron’s breakfast of milk and bread May be brought betimes to the old man’s bed Who often gives, while he is dressing, His Christabel a father’s blessing) That aged cow, as each stroke sounds slow, Answers it with a plaintive low! And the baron old, who is ill at rest, Curses the favourite cat for a pest―― For let him pray, or let him weep, She mews thro’ all the hours of sleep―― Till morning comes with its pleasant beams, And the cat is at rest, and the baron dreams! Let it rain, however fast, Rest from rain will come at last, And the blaze that strongest flashes Sinks at last, and ends in ashes! But sorrow from the human heart And mists of care will they depart? I know not, and cannot tell, Saith the Lady Christabel―― But I feel my bosom swell In my spirit I behold A lady――call her firm, not bold―― Standing lonely by the burn ――Strange feelings thro’ her breast and brain Shoot with a sense of madness and pain. Ah, Christabel return, return, Let me not call on thee in vain! Think, lady dear, if thou art drowned That thy body will be found, What anguish will thy spirit feel, When it must to all reveal What the spell binds thee to conceal! How the baron’s heart will knock ’gainst his chest When the stake is driven into thy breast, When thy body to dust shall be carelessly flung, And over the dead no dirge be sung, No friend in mourning vesture dight, No lykewake sad――no tapered rite!―― Return, return thy home to bless, Daughter of good Sir Leoline; In that chamber a recess Known to no other eye than thine, Contains the powerful wild-flower wine That often cheer’d thy mother’s heart, Lady, lovely as thou art Return, and ere thou dost undress And lie down in thy nakedness Repair to thy secret and favourite haunt And drink the wine as thou art wont! Hard to uncork and bright to decant.