Kneel down, my sweet bride, by my side prythee kneel She kneels and she sinks,--O what rapture I feel!-- She sinks on my heart, on my fast-heaving breast; With shuddering pleasure I hold her close press’d. Like billows her golden locks circle the pair, ’Gainst my heart beats the heart of the maiden so fair They beat with a union of sorrow and love, And soar to the regions of heaven above. While our hearts are thus floating in rapture’s wide sea, In God’s holy realms, all untrammell’d and free, On our heads, as a terrible sign and a brand, Has hell in derision imposed her grim hand. _In propriâ personâ_ the dark son of night As parson bestows the priest’s blessing to-night; From a bloody book breathes he the formula terse, Each prayer execration, each blessing a curse. A crashing and hissing and howling is heard, Like rolling of thunder, like waves wildly stirr’d; When sudden a bluish-tinged light brightly flames, “For ever, amen!” the old mother exclaims. 8. I came from the house of my mistress dear, And wander’d, half frenzied, in midnight fear, And when o’er the churchyard I mournfully trod, In solemn silence the graves seem’d to nod. The musician’s old tombstone seem’d nodding to be; ’Tis the flickering light of the moon that I see. There’s a whisper “Dear brother, I soon shall be here!” Then a misty pale form from the tomb doth appear. The musician it was who arose in the gloom, And perch’d himself high on the top of the tomb; The chords of his lute he struck with good will, And sang with a voice right hollow and shrill: “Ah, know ye still the olden song, “That thrill’d the breast with passion strong, “Ye chords so dull and unmoving? “The angels they call it the joys of heaven, “The devils they call it hell’s torments even, “And mortals they call it--loving!” The last word’s sound had scarcely died, When all the graves their mouths open’d wide; Many airy figures step forward, and each The musician draws near, while in chorus they screech: “Love, O love, thy wondrous might “Brought us to this dreary plight, “Closed our eyes in endless night,-- “To disturb us why delight?” Thus howl they confusedly, hissing and groaning, With roaring and sighing and crashing and moaning; The mad troop the musician surround as before, And the chords the musician strikes wildly once more “Bravo! bravo! How absurd! “Welcome to ye! “Plainly knew ye “That I spake the magic word!