She could not brook their holy rest While secret sorrow rent her breast She could not brook the cold world's sneer- And sea-drenched garments, weeping there. XV. There mouldering still their Castle stands, 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 owl from porch to gallery sweeps— And in the towers for centuries Then rose upon the trembling air 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. |