Those dreary stairs, where with the sounding stress The mind, with dark misgivings, feared to guess The tempest with its spoils had drifted in, The air was thick, and in the upper gloom The bat or something in its shape-was winging; And on the wall, as chilly as a tomb, The death's-head moth was clinging. That mystic moth, which, with a sense profound And with a grim significance flits round Such omens in the place there seemed to be, For over all there hung a cloud of fear; Yet no portentous shape the sight amazed ; Not merely with the mimic life that lies Their souls were looking through their painted eyes On every lip a speechless horror dwelt ; Such earnest woe their features overcast, They might have stirred, or sighed, or wept, or spoken; But, save the hollow moaning of the blast, The stillness was unbroken. No other sound or stir of life was there, Except my steps in solitary clamber, From flight to flight, from humid stair to stair, From chamber into chamber. Deserted rooms of luxury and state, That old magnificence had richly furnished Rich hangings, storied by the needle's art, The silent waste of mildew and the moth The sky was pale; the cloud a thing of doubt; Some hues were fresh, and some decayed and duller; But still the BLOODY HAND shone strangely out With vehemence of color! The BLOODY HAND that with a lurid stain The BLOODY HAND significant of crime, O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear The death-watch ticked behind the panelled oak, And echoes strange and mystical awoke, The fancy to embarrass. Prophetic hints that filled the soul with dread, But through one gloomy entrance pointing mostly, The while some secret inspiration said, That chamber is the ghostly! Across the door no gossamier festoon Swung pendulous no web no dusty fringes, No silky chrysalis or white cocoon About its nooks and hinges. The spider shunned the interdicted room, One lonely ray that glanced upon a bed, And yet no gory stain was on the quilt — Obscurely spotted to the door, and thence What human creature in the dead of night What shrieking spirit in that bloody room Across the sunbeam, and along the wall, O'er all there hung the shadow of a fear; A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, The place is haunted! THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. "Drowned! drowned!"-HAMLET. ONE more unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Take her up tenderly, Look at her garments Drips from her clothing; Touch her not scornfully; |