155 They passed the hall, that echoes still, Amid their own white ashes lying; Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall. "O softly tread," said Christabel, 165 |
155 They passed the hall, that echoes still, Amid their own white ashes lying; Which hung in a murky old niche in the wall. "O softly tread," said Christabel, 165 |