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She could not brook their holy rest

While secret sorrow rent her breast

She could not brook the cold world's sneer-
Pride's heartless taunt-and envy's jeer.
Time-tide, no tidings of her bore,
Though her they sought afar and near,
O'er sea, and land, and mountain drear.
But all who passed those graves at night
Saw, by the pale stars' glimmering light,
A Lady with long raven hair,

And sea-drenched garments, weeping there.

XV.

There mouldering still their Castle stands,
Like some proud wreck of feudal lands,
To greet the eye of all who stray
Along the NIEVA's blooming way,
Where every vassal in the vale

Can tell its melancholy tale.

The winds are sighing through the halls,

The lizard glistens on the walls-
From roof and rafter spiders dangle,

And weave their webs in every angle

The ivy through the lattice creeps,
The owl from porch to gallery sweeps—

And in the towers for centuries
Goblins have held their revelries,
Who strove to tarry there the night.
Fled ere the morning with affright :
Soon as the tapers they withdrew,
The bolts and bars asunder flew,
And pallid spectres glided in,
Their nightly revellings to begin.
The mournful Gipsy maiden's song
Beneath the casement flowed along,
The solemn warblings of her lute,
While all to catch its notes were mute.

Then rose upon the trembling air

The broken-hearted LEILA's prayer

The sounds of GAMBA's feet as he

Paced to and fro the gallery

And still 'tis shunned by lord and vassal

And called by all the Haunted Castle.

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTOR, LENOX AND TILDEN FOUNDATIONS.

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