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Why didst thou praise my humble charms,
And, oh ! then leave them to decay ? Why didst thou win me to thy arms,
Then leave me to mourn the livelong day? The village maidens of the plain
Salute me lowly as they go : Envious they mark my silken train,
Nor think a countess can have woe.
The simple nymphs ! they little know
How far more happy's their estate; To smile for joy, than sigh for woe;
To be content, than to be great.
How far less blessed am I than them,
Daily to pine and waste with care ! Like the poor plant, that, from its stem
Divided, feels the chilling air
Nor, cruel Earl ! can I enjoy
The humble charms of solitude ; Your minions proud my peace destroy,
By sullen frowns, or pratings rude. Last night, as sad I chanced to stray,
The village death-bell smote my ear; They winked aside, and seemed to say,
'Countess, prepare—thy end is near. And now, while happy peasants sleep,
Here I sit lonely and forlorn ; No one to soothe me as I
weep, Save Philomel on yonder thorn. My spirits flag, my hopes decay;
Still that dread death-bell smites my ear; And many a body seems to say,
'Countess, prepare—thy end is near.'”
Thus sore and sad that lady grieved
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear ; And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved,
And let fall many a bitter tear. And ere the dawn of day appear'd,
In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear,
And many a cry of mortal fear.
An aerial voice was heard to call,
Around the towers of Cumnor Hall.
The mastiff howled at village door,
The oaks were shatter'd on the green; Woe was the hour, for never more
That hapless Countess e'er was seen.
And in that manor, now no more
Is cheerful feast or sprightly ball ; For ever since that dreary hour
Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. The village maids, with fearful glance,
Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall ; Nor ever lead the merry dance
Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. Full many a traveller has sigh’d,
And pensive wept the Countess' fall, As wandering onwards they've espied The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall.
HE stood breast high amid the corn
Like the sweetheart of the sun,
From his moist cabinet mounts up on high,
COME, I come! ye have called me long;
I come o'er the mountains with light and song ;
Ye may trace my step o'er the wakening earth,
I have breathed on the south, and the chestnut flowers
And she and
I have I
From the sa:
Come forti. I porn
Away from the dweliings of ease-