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Rides forth upon destruction's wing;
XXXII. Fix'd was her look, and stern her air : Back from her shoulders stream'd her hair; The locks, that wont her brow to shade, Stared up erectly from her head ;
Her figure seem'd to rise more high ;
From that dire dungeon, place of doom,
Paced forth the judges three;
Of sin and misery.
An hundred winding steps convey
And many a stifled groan : With speed their upward way they take, (Such speed as age and fear can make,)
1 See Note on Stanza xxv., ante, p. 132.
And cross'd themselves for terror's sake,
As hurrying, tottering on: Even in the vesper's heavenly tone, They seem'd to hear a dying groan, And bade the passing knell to toll For welfare of a parting soul. Slow o'er the midnight wave it swung, Northumbrian rocks in answer rung; To Warkworth cell the echoes roll’d, His beads the wakeful hermit told, The Bamborough peasant raised his head, But slept ere half a prayer he said ; So far was heard the mighty knell, The stag sprung up on Cheviot Fell, Spread his broad nostril to the wind, Listed before, aside, behind, Then couch'd him down beside the hind, And quaked among the mountain fern, To hear that sound, so dull and stern.