Victoria
'Twas dead of the night, when I sat in my dwelling;One glimmering lamp was expiring and low;Around, the dark tide of the tempest was swelling,Along the wild mountains night-ravens were yelling,--They bodingly presaged destruction and woe.
'Twas then that I started!--the wild storm was howling,Nought was seen, save the lightning, which danced in the sky;Above me, the crash of the thunder was rolling,And low, chilling murmurs, the blast wafted by.
My heart sank within me--unheeded the warOf the battling clouds, on the mountain-tops, broke;--Unheeded the thunder-peal crashed in mine ear--This heart, hard as iron, is stranger to fear;But conscience in low, noiseless whispering spoke.
'Twas then that her form on the whirlwind upholding,The ghost of the murdered Victoria strode;In her right hand, a shadowy shroud she was holding,She swiftly advanced to my lonesome abode.
I wildly then called on the tempest to bear me--'
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