The mournful trees that in the garden stood Bent to the tempest as it rush'd along, The elm, the myrtle, and the cypress sad More melancholy tun'd its bellowing song. 107 No more that elm its noble branches spread, 425 The yew, the cypress, or the myrtle tree, Rent from the roots the tempest tore them down, And all the grove in wild confusion lay. 108 Yet, mindful of his dread command, I part Glad from the magic dome--nor found relief; 430 Damps from the dead hung heavier round my heart, While sad remembrance rous'd her stores of grief. 109 O'er a dark field I held my dubious way Where Jack-a-lanthorn walk'd his lonely round, Beneath my feet substantial darkness lay, 435 And screams were heard from the distemper'd ground. 110 Nor look'd I back, till to a far off wood, Trembling with fear, my weary feet had sped-- Dark was the night, but at the inchanted dome I saw the infernal windows flaming red. 440 111 And from within the howls of Death I heard, Cursing the dismal night that gave him birth, Damning his ancient sire, and mother sin, Who at the gates of hell, accursed, brought him forth. 112 [For fancy gave to my enraptur'd soul 445 An eagle's eye, with keenest glance to see, And bade those distant sounds distinctly roll, Which, waking, never had affected me.] 113 Oft his pale breast with cruel hand he smote, And tearing from his limbs a winding sheet, 450 Roar'd to the black skies, while the woods around, As wicked as himself, his words repeat. 114 Thrice tow'rd the skies his meagre arms he rear'd, Invok'd all hell, and thunders on his head, Bid light'nings fly, earth yawn, and tempests roar, 455 And the sea wrap him in its oozy bed. 115 "My life for one cool draught!--O, fetch your springs, "Can one unfeeling to my woes be found! "No friendly visage comes to my relief, "But ghosts impend, and spectres hover round. 460 116 "Though humbled now, dishearten'd and distrest, "Yet, when admitted to the peaceful ground, "With heroes, kings, and conquerors I shall rest, "Shall sleep as safely, and perhaps as sound." 117 Dim burnt the lamp, and now the phantom Death 465 Gave his last groans in horror and despair-- "All hell demands me hence,"--he said, and threw The red lamp hissing through the midnight air. 118 Trembling, across the plain my course I held, And found the grave-yard, loitering through the gloom, 470 And, in the midst, a hell-red, wandering light, Walking in fiery circles round the tomb. 119